


Caledonian Adventures

by Bardwich



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blackmail, Boys In Love, Drumfred, Drumfred AU, Drumfred in Scotland, Drummond lives, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, I am not a medic okay, I mean it this is Victorian debauchery with substances and kinky sex, Kissing, M/M, Make up sex, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Mentions of Violence, Minor Character Death, Victoria s02e07 rewrite, You're Welcome, alfred has a past, ghost of tragic gay sex past, handjobs in the forest, lots of debauchery, mention of character death (OC), mentions of physical violence and bullying, moonlit Victorian gay sex, period accurate homophobia, somewhat graphic descriptions of violence, technically it's one session of a mutual HJ, there will be more - tags to change accordingly, well one HJ
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 166,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23298268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bardwich/pseuds/Bardwich
Summary: While the canonical Drumfred moments in Scotland are delightful, ever wondered what if all that happened in more realistic, more private settings? This is my rewrite of their storylone in Scotland. Part I: Confessions at Night...
Relationships: Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha/Victoria of the United Kingdom (1819-1901), Edward Drummond/Alfred Paget
Comments: 89
Kudos: 73





	1. Confessions at Night

Alfred couldn’t bear to watch Drummond struggling so for another minute. The clock had struck two in the morning yet he was still pacing, letting Alfred replenish his tumbler of whisky for the nerves every hour or so. Meanwhile, His Grace was nodding off. This was his chance.

‘Duke, anyone could see you are overtired. May I suggest you go upstairs? Drummond and I will remain here for news.’

The Duke of Atholl, who had been slumping lower and lower in his chair by the fire, now jolted awake.

‘I cannot, it is my duty. Her Majesty is under my protection in this realm. But you, lads, you should rest.’

Not the answer he hoped for but Alfred went with it gladly. ‘Indeed, perhaps, Drummond, if you’ll permit me to see you to your room—’

‘No, thank you, if any one of us must stay, it is me,’ Drummond insisted at once. ‘I should have stopped Her Majesty going off in the first place and I shall be the one to inform Sir Robert of my incompetence. Any minute now…’

Alfred nearly rolled his eyes. He was known for his flair for exaggeration but next to these two gentlemen he was the one sane man, sans all this drama. Was this what Prince Albert always felt like?

It was clear that the Duke wasn’t going to give them any privacy, and Drummond would not budge either. Alfred walked to the decanter in the corner for some leftover port. Strange, the house was newly tidied up for the royal visit, yet the wallpaper was peeling in places there nearby… And just like that, the idea presented itself after all!

‘I wonder, Duke, could you just spare me and Drummond for a bit?’ Alfred turned to the men, and quickly went on as Drummond already meant to object. ‘We will be but a few minutes. I just wanted to show you a book I spotted earlier today in the library that I think you might find of use.’

Drummond, intrigued, followed Lord Alfred to the library through a hidden door in the wall without question.

Alfred had guessed correctly. The secret door led to the library indeed, only a small ante-chamber of it that one might have used as a private study room. It fitted one desk by the single tall window and an iron stove in lieu of a fireplace. Shelves and shelves full of heavy volumes were towering over them from every wall. In the darkness, one could not make out the chandelier above very well. Alfred sparked his tinderbox alit, not at all fumbling with it this time and therefore dazzling Drummond for a second. He did love his gadgets.

Alfred lit a candle and was pleased to hear Drummond close the door behind them softly. They were alone, at last.

‘What is it about?’

‘Hm?’

‘The book you wanted to show me.’

‘Oh,’ Alfred smiled to himself shyly. ‘There is no book. I just wanted to get away for a while. To get you away.’

‘Why?’

Alfred didn’t know whether Drummond was being coy or naïve or really just that unaware.

‘You are so weary, dea—D-Drummond,’ Alfred caught himself at the last second. This is exactly why he had told himself not to refer to his friend by terms of endearment even in his private thoughts! ‘I wish you’d stop tormenting yourself so. Is there anything I can do?’

‘Could you please find Her Majesty and His Grace?’ Drummond half-joked. His misery was immense.

Alfred stepped closer, which was not so necessary in the small room, and looked up at Drummond with his wide, blue eyes—as a child he knew he could always use this look to get more sweets from his nanny, and as an adult he had used it to disarm and enchant other young men more than once.

‘There’s more.’

‘Does one need more to be unnerved? How often do you accidentally cause the death of a monarch?’

‘First of all, give them more credit, I am sure they are fine. Secondly, I appreciate that is a concerning matter at hand. But still, there is more. You have been like this all day. Before this unfortunate awkwardness. Even on the trip northwards. Something else is ailing you.’

‘”What can ail thee, knight at arms…’”

Alfred was thankful of the darkness masking his blushing as Drummond quoted this back at him.

That ball, it was so long ago, yet he remembered it as if it had been only yesterday. That night might have been the first time he realised just how deep his feelings were becoming for the Prime Minister’s secretary. He had perhaps convinced himself he simply delighted in his sight, which was undeniably a treat for anyone, and that he would simply enjoy a bit of platonic flirtation with this chap on occasion. He missed being around young men who didn’t faint at the mention of racier topics than who was next in a round of Bridge. He had never imagined that Drummond might be interested in return. However, two years later and there they were, their connection more magnetic than ever and still, maddeningly still, not addressed.

‘Tell me I am wrong,’ he insisted, though gently now, thankful that at least his voice was steady.

Drummond’s silence was confirmation enough. He was staring downwards in thought, pouring the last drops of amber liquid from this side of his glass to that. Alfred waited.

‘What you said earlier. In the woods.’

‘Forgive me, I did not mean to overstep.’

‘No, you did right.’

‘I shouldn’t have.’

‘Yes, you should.’

‘But you feel so miserable now.’

‘No, I needed it,’ Drummond looked up, straight into Alfred’s eyes. The pain in his intelligent, brown eyes was clear. ‘I needed it a long time ago, in fact. I wish there had been someone who had talked to me, years ago, before I had made such a mistake and had let this farce go too far—I, forgive me.’

Drummond emptied his glass and placed it on a shelf by some leather-bound, French dictionaries.

France—Drummond remembered fondly—such a long way away and he was drifting further and further from it, fighting merciless waves to no avail. How long till he wasn’t only gasping for air but submerged beyond help? Or was he already beyond help? Were the final, fatal waves already closing in above him?

‘Perhaps Her Majesty and His Grace are right to ride off and disappear,’ he added wistfully rather than cynically. ‘I wish we could do the same.’

Alfred smiled. ‘”We?”’

Drummond noticed himself, slight panic running across his face.

‘We should rejoin the Duke, he’ll be wondering where we are—’

‘No, he won’t,’ Alfred opened the door just a few inches, only for a second but a second long enough for Atholl’s snores to sound as far as here and make the point. He closed it softly and stepped to Drummond again.

‘I curse myself I hadn’t met you first,’ Drummond confessed in the dark.

Alfred’s heart had never felt like this, it was pounding so hard each beat was visible through his waistcoat, crying out, wanting to escape and run to Drummond right now.

‘But I suppose I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t got engaged in the first place,’ Drummond thought aloud, slumping against the bookshelf. ‘Lady Florence is accomplished, and everything Miss Coke said, and you might know her from society anyway, so you’ll know it by no means reflects on her character that I say this but it was this step, agreeing to this engagement, that advanced me upwards. Without that I’d never have become a private secretary to Sir Robert. And I would never have met you. And, see, I’d never have made such a bad job of it as to lose the Queen! They were fools to trust me on status since, clearly, I lack the wits, I’ve been so stupid, in every way--’

‘Stop, stop, Drummond,’ Alfred nearly laughed. His friend was in a thousand miseries, God knew he was also, but the implications in Drummond’s words—he couldn’t help but feel his heart soar for it. ‘You are where you are because of your merits. Anyone would attest to that.’

‘I am not, I made a valuable connection that I now must abide by. I know you don’t care but I cannot let her down, she’d be ruined, as would I—’

‘The Duke of Wellington himself recommended you. Your fame precedes you, you know.’

‘What—how?’

‘My father and I were sick of it, I’m telling you. Before I ever met you, every time I lunched with him and Wellington, your name came up again and again—Drummond’s a real asset, Drummond’s got it covered, Drummond this, Drummond that—of course I imagined a balding, old, pencil-pusher with his dented, golden pocket-watch chain stretching over a big belly and not a care for beggars outside his family’s banks, let alone the Irish or others.’

Drummond, despite his anxiety, had to laugh at that image.

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, too,’ he jested.

‘You are not a disappointment. Never have, never will be.’

‘I’ve killed the Queen, Alfred.’

‘God, as dramatic as ever…’

‘Says you.’

‘Oh?’

‘Perhaps I’ve drunk too much.’

‘Have you?’

‘No, not really, I’m Scottish, remember?’

‘Well, then you should enjoy your time at home.’

‘I think the Queen’s enjoying it for all of us, out there. I only pray not too much.’

‘Daybreak is hours away yet.’

When did Alfred get so close to Drummond?

‘I meant it,’ Drummond uttered in the dark, growing more serious for shame. One mustn’t think about these things, let alone say them out loud. But then there was more than one such thing he found himself longing for these days. ‘The Highlands are not short on dangerous cliffs. I might be better off at the bottom of one than going back to London.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘You’re right. Florence, despite her accolades, I will never...’

‘Love her?’

Alfred wanted to reach out to support Drummond—no, he was far from affected by the whisky, but he was desperately sad and in need of a loving touch.

‘I used to think I was simply not capable of romantic sentiments, you know.’

‘Love.’

‘Love,’ Drummond finally said the word that he could not even when they were in the forest. ‘I thought I was just not one for love, or that it would come later, with marriage, or that everyone was simply exaggerating—don’t laugh.’

‘Sorry.’

‘I really did. I could not imagine it for myself, no matter how much I thought about marriage. Now I know better than to look for it in marriage. In fact, I need not look for it anymore.’

‘Because…?’

Drummond did not miss Alfred’s beautiful eyes glancing down at his lips, a question in them, no, a request, wasn’t it? He had wondered, too, so many times…

He acted before he thought.

He couldn’t believe he did it—nor could Alfred, though he was less surprised and more pleased. Encouraged by this, Drummond leaned in again for another kiss, for another jolt of lightning and the warmth that filled his chest, traveling down his spine.

Alfred was quick to grab him and pull him back in for a third before Drummond could break the moment by apologising profusely for the offence he had surely made, he had probably misread it all, this would never happen, this _could_ never—

As if Alfred’s soft lips weren’t enough to disarm Drummond completely, he began moving them against Drummond, teasing with his tongue until they were kissing _properly_ , like Edward had never… and how did Alfred know how to do this so well? (Drummond pushed that thought to the back of his mind for now.) As clumsy as he must have been at first, he rose to the challenge and eased into it.

Utter bliss.

Drummond had to break it sooner than his instincts dictated. He would have embarrassed himself immensely, if he had allowed himself one more second of these pleasures.

Alfred allowed him to this time. He stayed close, though. He was resting his forehead against Drummond’s, soaking up every second of this. Opening his eyes to the sight of Drummond overwhelmed more than ever, he nuzzled against his nose as if by reflex, as if they had been like this a thousand times before, and Drummond had to laugh out loud from relief.

‘Forgive me if I was wrong to—’

‘Do I seem offended to you?’

‘You…do…not.’ Drummond couldn’t believe it either, even as he said it.

‘Well, I am not,’ Alfred whispered sweetly to him, with another brush of his nose against Drummond’s for good measure. ‘I am glad.’

Drummond opened his eyes at last, too. They were so full of love. As were Alfred’s. He had forgotten all his worries, about the Queen, the Prince, and Florence.

…The Queen. The Prince. Lady Florence. His expression clouded, Alfred was witness to it from an inch away.

‘Not regretting it already?’ Alfred asked with a spark of fear dragging him back down to earth an inch.

Drummond was shaking his head and perished the thought. ‘The happiest moment of my life? Never.’

Relief washed over Alfred and he felt safe enough to stay in Drummond’s arms.

‘Is it the Queen?’ he asked. Drummond nodded sheepishly. ‘Would you like to retire?’ Alfred then asked, eager to help. He was running gentle hands up and down Drummond’s arms, shoulders, going back to play with the curls at the nape of his neck. ‘Come. Let’s go upstairs.’

‘Wouldn’t that be unwise?’

Alfred blushed. ‘I meant nothing of _that_ sort.’

‘What sort?’ Drummond asked… or challenged? Alfred enjoyed the uncertainty. Plus, if Drummond was teasing him, surely he wasn’t at the very edge of the precipice. There was still hope.

‘”Unwise” would be tiring yourself out with worrying.’

‘I worry about one less thing, now,’ Drummond remarked with a smile returning to his handsome face. He reached up a hand to cup Alfred’s face. ‘I was so scared you wouldn’t—that you don’t—’

‘I know. I am here,’ he reassured him, leaning into his touch. ‘Let me stay with you, at least. And when Her Majesty returns…’

‘If!’

‘… _when_ , then, we should make the most of our last full day in Scotland, before we must return…’

‘…back to London,’ Drummond echoed with pain. He was leaning in for more of those kisses he never thought he’d get a taste of but Alfred stepped away, mischief glimmering in his eyes.

‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘I wager that Her Majesty and Prince Albert shall be back before breakfast.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘And if I am, I say we make the most of our last day here. Scotland is a long way from home, is it not? Perhaps the normal rules don’t apply here so much. Let us draw up our own ones therefore.’

‘What are you getting at, Alfred?’

‘If the royal couple are still missing, obviously we must wait and perform our duties. However, if they _are_ found, which I believe they will, let us not waste more time. And no more of this “Back to London” nonsense. I forbid you, and myself, to utter this phrase anymore whilst our agreement lasts.’

‘So, say they are found…’

‘You and I must allow ourselves our deserved time together.’

‘Before we go b—’

‘Uh-uh! We don’t say that anymore. Only to mark the end of our stay. Like a code, to seal our pact.’

‘But…’

‘Please?’

How could Drummond say no to Alfred when he was looking at him like that?

‘Fine. No more mention of… that.’

‘So you agree? To making the most of our last day?’

‘Provided Her Majesty is found.’

‘Naturally.’

‘ _And_ His Grace the Prince Albert.’

‘Goes without saying.’

‘Fine.’

‘Fine!’

‘Fine…’ Drummond repeated and stepped closer to get a taste of Alfred’s lips again as he was so dying to by now.

Alas, he froze as a noise sounded from outside. It became clearer—a horseman from the Duke of Atholl’s guard was approaching, the sound of urgent hooves on the gravel becoming louder and louder.

Drummond and Alfred silently communicated between themselves in the soft light of daybreak. They left their little sanctuary and crossed the foyer before the Duke had even come to. Surely, the guard approaching the castle’s gates was bringing vital news.

 _Gallop, gallop faster_ , Drummond wished, _put us out of our misery!_

…And begin what was promising to be a day out of his dreams, a day spent with Lord Alfred, his true love.


	2. A Pink Ribbon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drummond ponders about his past, present, and future while struggling to write about bad news to Sir Robert. Will someone put him out of his misery?

‘What do you mean no sign of them?’

Drummond was paler than a ghost in the faint morning light.

The kilted guard got off his weary steed—Alfred looked away for modesty a second too late. So the rumours were true, the highland uniform really didn’t include underwear. He shot Drummond a secret look but he was too distressed to notice anything.

‘Actually, not no sign, sir,’ the guard said in a strong Scottish accent.

‘What do you mean?’ Alfred asked because Drummond seemed incapable of speech from shock.

‘We found a pink ribbon over the river the likeness of which we believe Her Majesty wore yesterday. A number of our men are still investigating that area, but it’s very scarcely inhabited. In all honesty, my lords, I wouldn’t expect any news, good or bad, till tomorrow.’

Alfred thanked the guard and ushered a stunned Drummond inside. The Duke was still asleep. They had to wake him. A simple shake of the head was all he needed to understand.

Still no Queen.

‘I ought to go upstairs now,’ Drummond declared.

‘Yes, go, have a lie down, now. You, too, Lord Alfred.’

‘No, I must compose a letter,’ Drummond clarified grimly. ‘To Sir Robert. Duke… _Lord_ Alfred.’

There it was, Alfred understood. They weren’t going to get their chance. The night, though sweet, was gone. They were Lord Alfred Paget, Chief Equerry to the Crown, and Mr Drummond, the Prime Minister’s Private Secretary. They could sooner shed their own skins than these roles. The distance was growing between them with Drummond’s every step up the staircase.

Drummond sought out the nearest writing desk he could find, which was in the red salon. He sat at the desk overlooking the front gardens, he got ink, paper, blotting paper… and nothing came to him. What could one say in such an event? Every excuse was so feeble, so ridiculous, and foolish!

Troublingly, he was beginning to wonder whether his letter should be one to resign from his post. It would be only right, would it not?

Lord Alfred said he had got his position based on merit. He was too kind, of course. Dearest Alfred. Drummond found it hard to concentrate and think hard about his choice of words to the Prime Minister just from the exhaustion of a sleepless night—hence why he stood lest he started nodding off—but memories of Alfred kept distracting him far more than that.

He kissed him. He _kissed_ him! He had been rather fatalistic but he could die happy now! Sadly, it looked like they weren’t free to be together today but he had Alfred’s love. Didn’t he? They hadn’t said… not out loud… but Alfred far from minded Drummond’s actions. He responded with more passion than Drummond could have ever imagined! And what joys, what pleasures he had given him to remember and cherish forever! If he really focused, he could still feel Alfred’s lips against his own, his tongue, his body in his arms…

But, what he had to focus on at present, instead, was this letter to Sir Robert. Sir Robert, who would be ever so disappointed in him! Well, little did he know, he had a far more condemning reason to be disappointed in his private secretary… That now familiar anxiety was starting to creep back up on Drummond, prompting him to pace up and down the salon.

Sir Robert must never know. No one must ever, ever know. But Sir Robert, especially, with his iron fist and firm principles on the subject. He was the least lenient person about _men of that sort_ in the country. The MET police would not have been what it was without him. If he caught wind of his right hand man engaging in any illicit activities, with a member of the royal household at that, Drummond would be ruined, if not hung.

Nobody had seen them at night, right? Or heard. Because if anyone had… No, no one could have, surely. The Duke was the only person near them and he was fast asleep by the fire out in the foyer. But one never knew in a castle like this—there could have been secret passages for servants to get about unseen behind every wall, every bookshelf. But then, Drummond sometimes even feared someone might have read his very thoughts! A foolish notion, but sometimes his thoughts concerning Lord Alfred were such even in public that he went red praying that nothing about his demeanour gave him away! It was a daily struggle at the best of times, worse when he was in Lord Alfred’s presence. How would he be able to hide his true feelings for that beautiful man now that he knew what it felt like to kiss him?

Think, Drummond, think. He grabbed a pen, dipped it in ink, and began at last. “ _Sir, I regret to inform you—_ “ No. Too tragic, too soon. He got a fresh piece of paper. “ _Sir, I hope this letter finds you and your family well. It is my humble duty to acquaint you with some regrettable news that might—”_ _Absolutely not_ , Drummond berated himself again, he has never addressed his respected PM in such a circumlocutional manner and he was not about to start now. His straightforwardness and clear mind were what Sir Robert liked about him. Even the morning birds singing outside seemed to be mocking him, going _“Drummond’s a fool, a fool, Drummond’s a fool, a fool!”_

God, he needed sleep.

Another paper scrunched up and cast aside, Drummond rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and tried again.

_“Sir, as regards my latest letter, posted on the 14 th, it befalls me to let you know that Her Majesty and the Prince Albert have gone missing in the course of an outing. His Grace the Duke of Atholl is at no fault, having provided more than ample security throughout our visit. Alas, I believe it is this level of caution precisely that motivated Her Majesty and His Grace to elect to riding back to the castle on horseback and to take a different turn through the woods than the rest of their entourage following a trip to a nearby stream. We realised their absence within the half-hour and searched the areas immediately, I regret to say to no avail. A large number of the house guards have been searching the area of the Estate in a five-mile radius throughout the night. At the moment of my composing this letter, which I feel is my duty and a testament to my failure as a representative of the government and your esteemed self, a small search party of guardsmen are still out there as a pink ribbon was found near a river, where—”_

A pink ribbon…

_‘What is it?’_

_‘Open it. It won’t bite you.’_

_Lady Florence looked up at Mr Drummond unconvinced. She wasn’t sure she should trust him that well yet. But the present was small, the box was neatly covered in pure, white velvet, and it was tied so beautifully with a pale pink, silk ribbon. It seemed harmless._

_Besides, although the pair of them had strolled far enough into the garden as to be out of earshot of their parents and others, the whole party of chaperones could easily see them. The air was rich with the perfume of flowers blooming in the spring. Why should she feel apprehensive? Mr Drummond wouldn’t do anything to harm her. Would he?_

_She pulled on the ribbon and lifted the lid._

_‘Is it not to your taste?’ Edward asked, fearing he had made a mistake after all. ‘Your mother reassured me it is a style that would please you. I can have another one made if you don’t like it. I mean, if you should accept. I can… God, I’m really making a mess of this. Lady Florence?’_

_She was too stunned for words._

_Edward, however was not at all short of them, in fact he kept blabbering on and on awkwardly._

_‘…what I am trying to say is, you don’t have to accept.’_

_‘Don’t you want me to accept?’ she asked at last._

_‘I… I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you to.’_

_‘You haven’t technically asked me anything, Mr Drummond.’_

_‘Oh. Right. Well… Lady Florence, will you…’ he swallowed, anxiety nagging at him from all sides but pushing through it. It was the right thing to do. Too late to back out now, anyway. He wanted this. This was going to be a good thing._

_Then why did he hear that faint voice in his head that wished she would say no?_

_‘…Will you marry me?’_

_Now it was her turn to gulp. She looked up at him with eyes wide with youthful uncertainty. She had been made to question her opinions all the time, put down for even voicing any of them. How was she supposed to know what she should say to such an offer?_

_‘I suppose Mama and Papa have… already… spoken to…’_

_‘Yes.’_

_‘Right… well… goodness me…’_

_Was she actually going to say no? Edward hoped. Thought. Not hoped. Right? Was she even at liberty to?_

_‘But what about your studies?’ she asked._

_‘Oh, well, yes, I must, of course, finish my studies first. That is one more year hence but I shall visit you in the term breaks, if I may. And I have declared to both of our families that I would rather we waited until you were at least 18 years old.’_

_‘That is next May, too. And you? You are only…’_

_‘Twenty-one. By the time I can make a proper proposal, twenty-two. I never imagined I would rush into anything like this but my parents are extremely supportive of it.’_

_‘But…’_

_‘Are you worried about my prospects?’_

_‘Not worried, you are a promising young man, I daresay!’_

_‘Rest assured: I have been offered a position as the Junior Secretary to the Duke of Wellington, right after graduation. My aspirations lie in politics, as you know, but I will always have the bank to fall back on, if need be. You will have a comfortable life and a good position.’_

_The truth was, Lord Lothian promised he would pull some strings and recommend him. It was within the same breath that he suggested Drummond marry Florence. It was implied this was a form of thanks. A favour for a favour. How could he refuse it?_

_‘So this is a pre-proposal, of sorts?’ Florence asked._

_‘Our parents have long been in talks about it, I am told.’_

_‘I admit, I did hear Mama and Papa mention the idea for a time now, so it shouldn’t come as such a surprise. I just didn’t think they were quite so serious.’_

_‘Should I return the ring, then?’_

_She thought about it for a long second. ‘No,’ she finally decided. ‘I will accept it. But I shan’t wear it just yet. Not until you have properly proposed.’_

_They were very aware of their audience. The Dowager Marchioness Lothian could be heard croaking “What’s taking them so long?”_

_‘I will wear the ribbon, however. As a promise of a promise.’_

_Edward cracked up. He feared he had completely embarrassed himself. He had never felt so uncomfortable in his life. The heat, his clothes, the prying eyes, the expectation, but Florence at least seemed to be on the same level as him. He was glad she wasn’t teary and falling into his arms, bragging to her lady friends about the size of the diamond in her ring. She wasn’t even willing to wear it until the following year, when they would get properly engaged, with all the rituals among their joint families following suit._

_Instead, their families watched as he tied the ribbon around her braid._

_He hardly knew he was tying a noose around his own neck._

Weary, sleepless Drummond standing by the window in Blair Atholl, deep in thought, could hardly remember that boy he once was, so gullible in matters of the heart and society that he went along with all that without questions. He was too busy building his career and finishing his studies with excellent results. He wondered whether he was still naïve about a million things.

Perhaps he would have been happy to marry her then, while they were both young and ignorant. However, little did he know that after the official proposal, Florence would spend a season in Paris with her aunt and return quite a different person. She was no longer pliable and accommodating. She became accomplished, yes, but her demands and taste for luxury were as sharpened as her piano skills or her French. She left England a girl, and came back a woman ready to order about anyone and everyone as if she was already the chatelaine of the grand house in Belgravia waiting for her reign. She used her wit and charms to get her way, in full command of her powers. The only person still not falling for her displays of emotion or her beauty was Drummond, her fiancé of all people, to which she responded with yet more unreasonable demands. And he, he had to give her what she wanted, to hold up his end of the bargain, even when Lord Lothian even admitted Florence had changed and not necessarily for the better.

He still cared for her deeply, hoping to reason with her for her sake. When she wasn’t in a mood, she was her sweet, old self that Drummond proposed to.

However, when he objected to her whimsies, needing sensible reasons, she went as far as accusing him of preferring another woman, one who didn’t mind him going on and on about his work friends or reeking of cheroots after a day at the Palace!

She was right, when he wasn’t with Lord Alfred he liked to talk about him often. But him and other women? She didn’t need to worry about that…

Drummond remembered now, too, how he prided himself on not straying while at university. He had a wife fixed for his future. He had no need of sneaking out at night and chasing local girls down in the pub in town, like some boys in his college. He especially revolted at the thought of his best friend, Hugh engaging in all that. He was a remarkable young man, Drummond always wanted to impress him and he felt irrationally jealous when he was picked for the opposing cricket team. But Hugh really could annoy him to no end when all he cared about was bragging rather improperly about the girls he was seeing. And there was always a girl he was seeing.

Like Florence, albeit not _quite_ like her, Drummond had since become a man of the world and understood that his friend may have stirred similar feelings in him as Lord Alfred, to a lesser extent. Was he always like this, then? Could it never be helped? He still didn’t understand why he preferred men, despite all the praying and all the self-conditioning in an attempt to redirect his desires stirred by Alfred to his fiancée.

However, this morning, for the first time, because Lord Alfred had returned his love so willingly, he was not ashamed of it in his heart of hearts. He was glad of it, even if it would have shocked and scandalised, well, everyone he knew.

And then, his mind, far from wandering back to the letter he was having to write, returned to Alfred and how skilled he was at… kissing. (Drummond couldn’t believe he was actually having these kinds of thoughts now! Kissing Alfred was not a shameful dream but a recent memory!) Did that mean, like Drummond, Lord Alfred had once had a friend he had been attracted to? Maybe he did not stop at secretly longing for them. They said of the Pagets, after all… well, they said many things, each more incredible than the other. Was Alfred like that, too? Was Alfred’s affection for Drummond his only vice (one Drummond could happily forgive him for)? Had someone else once held Alfred in his arms like Drummond did at night? Who? When? And why had they been such a fool as to lose him? Was there tragedy and heartbreak in Alfred’s past that he hasn’t spoken of to Drummond yet?

Above all, Drummond was troubled by the fact that because of the queen and the prince he was missing out on precious time with Alfred. He knew once they were back in the south, it would be near impossible to connive for a moment alone, in a place that was private and yet not suspicious. It was now or never. And it would be never, unless an angel came from the heavens right this second to save the day.

‘They’re safe!’

Drummond turned towards the door. Lord Alfred was rushing through it, a big smile on his face. Seems he only had to wish for his angel!

It took him a second to understand the wonderful news. When he did, he wasn’t thinking, he was hugging Alfred tightly already, eliciting a surprised giggle from him. What a relief! He noticed himself quickly and let him go. But their joy was such that he didn’t even want to apologise for it! Alfred thought he would kiss him again right then and there but that would have been going too far in a shared salon with an open door.

‘Good,’ he uttered simply instead, even though Alfred seemed expectant of more. Maybe later… yes, later, he remembered, the heady thought immediately flooding his mind: ‘So this means we can…’

‘You can go to bed at last.’

‘No, I shan’t. I don’t want to waste a moment I could spend with y—’

‘Lord Alfred!’ Miss Coke suddenly appeared in the doorway, radiant as ever. ‘Mr Drummond! You’ve heard the good news, then!’ she said, so very cheerily even compared to her usual accommodating demeanour.

Lord Alfred had let go of Drummond at once. He mimicked her radiance, so as to disperse any suspicion. ‘Indeed! I’ve just told Drummond! He was more anxious than the Duke all night, it was all I could do to dry their tears.’

‘Really?’ she giggled.

‘Not true!’ Drummond objected.

‘He is refusing to retire, too!’ Lord Alfred complained dramatically to her. ‘Isn’t he positively foolish, Miss Coke?’

‘As are you, Lord Alfred, for the same reasons.’

‘Me, I must be downstairs for the welcome.’

And just then, the sounds of a carriage pulling up on the gravel sounded. Drummond checked from the windows. ‘It’s them!’ he announced. He threw away his half-written letter gladly and they all went downstairs together.

Drummond had unfortunately been present at Her Majesty’s giving birth once, albeit thankfully only from an adjacent room, but he had never seen her in such a state of dishevelment! Whatever adventures she and the prince had, he was curious to hear about them later! He looked to Lord Alfred to learn it was appropriate to applaud. He stayed close to him even once they had all filed inside.

‘ _Now_ , will you go to bed, Drummond?’ Alfred asked him, his eyes also tired but full of joy and his smile as radiant as ever.

‘A cup of coffee and I’ll be fine,’ Drummond insisted covertly. But of course Miss Coke was already there by their side again, as if she sensed they needed chaperoning.

‘Well, I certainly need to change!’ Alfred announced. ‘These are still yesterday’s riding clothes, certainly not fit for breakfast. Excuse me,’ he stopped a passing footman. ‘A bath in my room, please.’

Drummond also excused himself and retired to his bedroom to change. Now that he wasn’t sick with worry, he appreciated the opportunity to breathe again, and to sit on his bed for a minute. The birdsongs outside no longer sounded like mockery but like a heavenly sonata. He kicked off his boots and lay back on the covers, thinking of Alfred, always Alfred, dreaming of getting more of his kisses later...


	3. Midsummer Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys try to get a moment alone. It's proving harder than they hope. They may have to go off the map to find a safe haven and write their own rules...
> 
> Basically, a lot of classic frolicking Drumfred ahead.

It was well into the afternoon by the time Drummond woke up.

He thought he was stuck in a dream even when he was awake as the face he saw above him was just the man he had been dreaming of.

‘Mmmhg—Lord Alfred?’

Alfred let go of Drummond’s shoulder now that he was coming to and getting up. His curls were so tussled and wild, adorable and irresistible as ever. Alfred wasn’t going to confess to having allowed himself the pleasure of watching him sleep for the past two minutes. It felt wrong to disturb him even now. But, perhaps selfishly, he wanted Drummond’s time now he’s had plenty to be refreshed. He missed his voice, his eyes, the way he pretended he hadn’t been looking at Alfred just at the last second.

‘You missed breakfast and lunch. I would have woken you earlier but I daresay you needed some rest.’

‘What time is it?’ Drummond asked, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and feeling rather embarrassed to be seen in such a state by just the man whose good opinion of him he cared the most about.

‘Past three now.’

‘Crikey! Was her Majesty offended?’

‘Not at all. She nearly ushered me out of the drawing room, too. Would you like me to have something brought up here?’

‘Goodness, no, I ought to be down for tea.’

‘Very well,’ Alfred said and stood off the bed despite himself. ‘I’ll tell your valet Mr Drummond would like a bath and a change of clothes. And perhaps a comb through his hair.’

Drummond’s hand shot up to his untamed locks. He went so red in an instant! What must he look like?

But Alfred just giggled to himself, very pleased with himself and stepped to the door. Before he left, however, he turned to Drummond just once more:

‘I was thinking, perhaps, we could… revisit the library after tea? I never showed you that book, after all.'

Drummond furrowed his brows. ‘But there was no book at all… Oh.’

Alfred left with a wink.

Whoever invented afternoon tea did not account for one’s ability of holding a teacup steadily when preoccupied by the prospect of kissing Lord Alfred senseless at the earliest opportunity presented.

Not that Alfred wasn’t as excited and endlessly flattered but he feared one more drop of tea on the 300-year-old tartan carpet and Drummond would give them away. Hence why Alfred kept his glances across the room to a minimum. It was only a tea. He was also eager to escape as soon as possible but he soldiered on, putting on his best courtier smile and an expression of polite interest as he made the rounds in the salon. He even held up his half in a conversation about something fascinating so-and-so invented that Prince Albert was going to inspect in London.

London. Alfred stole another glance from Drummond. Poor Drummond, he was dreading his return so much, and his engagement, but Alfred knew all too well there was nothing to be done about that now.

Conversations faded as he remembered crying himself to sleep every night for weeks after Drummond surprised him with this news outside his club. Engaged? Alfred could barely congratulate him, he heard his own voice but his own words sounded like someone else had spoken them. He vowed to give up on Drummond then. Surely, if he was interested in women enough to be engaged to marry, why would he ever truly care for Alfred? He said so himself, he cared deeply for Lady Florence. He would never love her, but then marriages these days were scarcely based on love. People made that mistake frequently. “Marriages aren’t motivated by love. Divorces are!” his parents would often say, only half joking.

It would have been different if Alfred had simply desired Drummond (which he did, God he did!) but it was more than that. Unfortunately, inconveniently, and wonderfully, he had fallen in love.

Sweet, clever, caring Drummond, he was a good person with such a kind heart and Alfred didn’t doubt his feelings, or that Drummond believed them to be true in this minute. He could barely contain his excitement, checking his own watch as often as Alfred… Alas, Alfred knew, like other men, Drummond would be free to have his fun only for a short while and then eventually leave him for the sake of his marriage, his wife, his life that could not include Lord Alfred.

He felt foolish, risking certain heartbreak again but wild horses couldn’t keep him away from Drummond that day. Not him. Perhaps he really was being selfish but it had been so long since he had been kissed like that, the way Drummond had kissed him at night. At first, he was rather tentative, even clumsy—Alfred suspected that was his first kiss with a man. Or, perhaps… his first kiss? Well, he learned quickly enough. Was Alfred to blame for wanting to get as much of that as he could, while he could? He was aching to be held by the man he loved, if only for today, so be it.

That’s why he offered this little pact. If it was only a day of freedom, it wouldn’t seem so daunting. For Drummond as for Alfred himself.

And yet, they were still standing about sipping tea and recommending teacakes to one another. They didn’t have much time but rules were rules. Lord Alfred would never have dreamed of committing such an offence of etiquette as to leave tea earlier than the Queen.

‘Albert, Ernst, do speak in English,’ Victoria said coming up to the three of them. ‘Can’t you see you are excluding poor Lord Alfred from your conversation?’

In truth, the princes could have been chatting in fluent Chinese right in front of him Alfred wouldn’t have noticed a thing because he had just caught sight of Drummond licking a drop of whipped cream off the corner of his mouth covertly somewhere in another corner of the salon and he made the same face he once did when the Russian Prince’s hand wandered to the then unmarried Victoria’s lower back during a Waltz.

‘You seem rather shocked, Lord Alfred! What _were_ the princes discussing?’

Alfred recovered as best as he could.

‘Alas my German is rusty. It was probably not for my ears anyway, ma’am,’ Lord Alfred quipped with a bit of cheek only he could allow himself, being a Paget at court. Sometimes he felt like that’s what he was “kept” for.

‘It was nothing that would have shocked Lord Alfred, I daresay,’ Ernst remarked.

‘Ernst! I expect better behaviour of you both at dinner,’ Victoria scolded them.

Alfred grabbed his chance. ‘Indeed, ma’am, is it not time to finish this tea? Otherwise we shan’t have enough time to change.’

‘You are quite right, Lord Alfred. Anyone for a walk before dinner?’

Lord Alfred excused himself, claiming he should lie down for an hour before supper as he hadn’t slept, unlike Drummond… to whom he made a beeline as soon as Her Majesty was gone.

‘Would you elaborate on Sir Robert’s current stance on the Corn Laws?’ the Duke of Atholl was asking Drummond over there.

‘With pleasure, You Grace—’ Drummond spotted Alfred and changed course at once and discarded of his tea and cake. ‘But, perhaps, another time. I, uh, have an engagement with Lord Alfred in the library.’

‘Ah? To do with the book Lord Alfred showed you?’

‘What—yes, yes, indeed!’

‘Oh, what book?’ Miss Coke piped up, eager to be included.

‘Umm, a book about…’

‘France,’ Lord Alfred supplied, saving Drummond. ‘About French. The French. Language.’

‘I didn’t know you spoke French, Mr Drummond!’ Miss Coke conversed.

‘Yes, I got a taste for it after our trip to King Louis’s court.’ Drummond was getting as red as Alfred, probably.

‘Alas, Drummond’s pronunciation needs work,’ Alfred explained, enjoying the effect it had on Drummond: ‘Tongue placement can be tricky when it comes to French.’

‘I can help you too, I speak French!’ Miss Coke offered.

‘No, no need, let me just steal Drummond away for a trip to the library before dinner.’

They were in fits of laughter about this as soon as they stepped through the secret door to the little study where they had spent such wonderful minutes the night before.

‘I need a lesson in tongue placement, is that so?’ Drummond teased.

Alfred stopped laughing and stepped into Drummond’s space, close, so close they were nose-to-nose. Under an instant spell, Drummond leaned closer, his lips a millimetre away from Alfred’s, when—

The latch was turning on the door leading to the big library. They had time enough to flee apart and hide their frustration by the time the Duchess of Sutherland entered.

Her face was expressionless, as always these days. Alfred felt for her friend. In truth, she shouldn’t have been dragged on this trip north, not while in full mourning.

‘Excuse me, I thought this room was empty,’ she said.

‘No, please,’ Lord Alfred was quick to say, gesturing towards the desk and the chair. ‘Feel free to.’

‘I find I prefer to read in solitude,’ she explained, taking a seat and promptly burying herself in her book.

Alfred and Drummond could see in the big library was Prince Ernst, who had evidently broken away from the walk and had been rejected again by Harriet.

‘We will leave you to your book, Duchess,’ Drummond said accommodatingly and the men left her alone in the small study. They weren’t happy to say the least.

Prince Ernst misunderstood their grim expressions.

‘Please, don’t feel sorry for me,’ he told them.

‘No, we…’

‘Life is funny,’ Ernst went on, as if dying to speak to someone, anyone, truthfully, and who better to than other young, single men of his class? ‘The more one tries, life has a way of working in such a way that one still cannot be with the one they love.’

His words still rang deafeningly in the room after Prince Ernst left. Just a minute ago, Alfred and Drummond thought they could get away for a few blissful minutes but it wasn’t happening.

And then, on top of this, Prince Albert and Her Majesty and a whole entourage of guests and guards showed up from the garden and then it was time to change.

Lord Alfred shot Drummond an apologetic look (he knew he always looked to him for cues), mouthed “ _later_ ,” and went to his room to put on his evening attire. Every button in the right place, every strand of hair combed perfectly, as etiquette prescribed.

…Perhaps with a bit more care as, despite Prince Ernst’s words still in his head, Alfred couldn’t help but want to face the evening with a plan to get Drummond alone anyway. Somehow. The more life and society worked against them, the more defiant and determined he felt to bring this about, feeling deserving of a break. How he had dreamed of Drummond returning his feelings! He wasn’t going to miss out on the chance to pursue him just because the Duke scheduled them another audaciously dull round of poetry recital after coffee.

‘Anything else, my lord?’ his valet asked him, gathering his things and Lord Alfred’s discarded clothes.

‘That’ll be all, thank you,’ Alfred replied, feeling unkind. ‘As a matter of fact, you know what, you can take the evening off. The morning, too.’

‘Really, my lord?’

‘Of course. I’ll manage for the rest of the trip, I daresay,’ he said but really what he thought was it would be better not to have to fear being walked in on, in case he did get some privacy with Drummond later. ‘Go rest, fish, learn the bagpipes. Sleep in.’

‘I know just what I’ll do!’

‘Oh?’

‘I will go to the dance in that case, my lord.’

‘The dance? What dance?’

‘There’s a spot in the forest where the highland staff go for a bit of music and dance in the evenings. Not every evening, of course, but whenever they can, only once the household has just about retired.’

‘Is that so?’ Alfred asked. His valet knew from his tone he wasn’t going to report them for any wrongdoing at all. Lord Alfred was fun-loving himself. ‘Well, enjoy yourself.’

‘I would say you should come along, too, sir, no doubt you’d be welcome, but I hear His Grace has commissioned Mr Beattie to recite more of his poems tonight. No doubt you’ve your amusement sorted.’

‘Want to swap places, Wilson? Please. I beg you.’

‘I wouldn’t know which fork to use at dinner, my lord. Well…’

‘Right, you can go. Go dance.’

‘Very good, m’lord.’ The footman bowed his head and left the room.

And just like that, a plan started to take shape in Alfred’s head. His heart came alive with hope and excitement again.

He wished he had been sat near enough Drummond at dinner to reassure him he had a plan. He could see Drummond pick at his food less and less every course, hope fading from his eyes as the hours passed. The glances he stole from him were no longer excited but regretful and longing. Alfred hardly touched his food either, only to lessen the effects of the wines. He had to keep it together just a bit more. The cognac arrived, the ladies left to the drawing room, cigars were handed around, and coffee. Alfred blamed the sleepless night on why he wasn’t very talkative when nagged by the company. Drummond knew—Alfred couldn’t care less about idle chit-chat when every moment was precious and night would fall soon. They had nearly wasted the entire day now!

Whatever happened on their adventure, Alfred thanked the heavens for it being so good for their marriage because Prince Albert suggested they joined the ladies sooner than expected, which was fine by him! They went into the salon and the Duke announced he had arranged more entertainments for the evening—no doubt the poetry.

He knew once they were trapped in there, they weren’t bound to escape anytime soon. So he broke the rules of etiquette the slightest bit in order to connive for the greater good. Lord Alfred was supposed to go into the downstairs parlour with Miss Coke but he hang back a little, knowing Drummond was last in line since everyone outranked him.

Just as he calculated, Her Majesty, the princes, everyone filed into the room in an orderly manner, not turning back to notice Alfred hanging back.

‘You know, Drummond,’ he spoke to him softly. Drummond stopped at the first sound of his voice and hang on his every word, discreetly. ‘I believe we may have more fun if we join the servants.’

Drummond smiled to himself. This was their chance. He would have been a fool not to follow Alfred.

They could barely contain their excitement, practically skipping out of the gloomy, dark castle and down an earthy path leading into the woods, accidentally-on-purpose touching each other in their haste. The days were long at this time of year and despite the late hour the whole world was still basking in a golden glow like something out of a dream.

‘Where are we going?’ Drummond asked, feeling like a naughty schoolboy but trusting Alfred completely.

‘I told you,’ Alfred replied, colour coming to his alabaster cheeks from the hike outdoors.

‘Not actually to the servants?!’

‘Why not? Look!’

Drummond heard it first, the sound of a lively reel was leading their way. They spotted it soon enough, just as Alfred’s valet said. There was a dance floor made of sturdy, rough wood and tree trunks in the middle of a clearing on which more than a dozen couples were reeling wildly in dizzying circles. Kilted guards were playing music on bagpipes and drums loudly and with terrific vigour. There were also plenty of drinks to go around!

‘Changed your mind, then, my lord?’ Wilson came up to them, very much enjoying his time off.

‘I hope we’re not intruding,’ Lord Alfred replied, feeling a bit out of place here in his expensive evening clothes that made him, and Drummond, stick out like a sore thumb among the servants.

‘Nonsense, the more the merrier. If you can handle our kind of fun.’

‘Oh, you underestimate us. And Mr Drummond here is Scottish.’

‘Well, then, have a dram and join the reel, sir!’

Some of the highlanders who overheard also encouraged this with cries of “Let’s see then!” and a red faced guard with a bushy beard rejoicing in another Drummond’s presence offered to lend him his kilt so that the sir could show us his reeling skills properly.

His wife nipped him on the ears and stopped him before any immodesty took place.

Alfred and Edward shared a look and nearly lost their decorum to a fit of laughter. However, they very much did as told! A drink of strong, single-malt whisky in them each and they were on the floor, joining the circle of reelers happily. It was a blessing of the dance that they could freely couple up for the spins, nobody batted an eyelash here about that! Drummond really could reel! Although Lord Alfred was an excellent dancer and Her Majesty’s favoured dancing partner, he could hardly keep up!

After the hellish night and the strain of a day lived under strict societal constraints as always, they relished in the opportunity to let lose, for once in their life.

Let go, for once in your life, the rhythm sang to them, let go, let go…

After a few dances, perfectly coiffed no more, Alfred was the one to suggest they took off their coats, which became taking off their cravats, and taking a walk, and somehow they ended up walking out of the woods on the other side, to a beautiful lakeside clearing. Hercules’ Garden, they called it. When Drummond asked how he’d known about the servants’ _dansant_ , Alfred confessed his rapport with his valet, which seemed to amuse him very much. Good, Alfred thought, glad he could cheer him up after his increasing gloom at dinner earlier. So he topped it with a naughty allusion to the lack of underwear under the guards kilts, again, very popular with Drummond, as were his attempts at speaking the dialect.

‘I’ll have a wee dram of that whisky,’ Alfred teased him, reaching for the flask in Drummond’s hand that the servants had filled with some of that fine Scotch.

Alfred wondered what was going on in Drummond’s mind as he stopped by the lake to admire the view. Probably savouring it and about to get melancholy about London again.

No, he mustn’t allow that to happen. They may not hope for a happy life the way they’d want to live it. But can’t they have just one happy evening?

‘The midsummer evenings are so enchanting, don’t you think?’ Alfred tried, to distract him.

Far from getting depressed, Drummond turned to Alfred with a look he’d never forget and kissed him on the spot, out in the open. Perhaps it was the dance, or the whisky, or something very different and much stronger, but the heady feeling that came over Alfred evaporated any fears of being seen. This was a private enough spot. It was Heaven itself. He kissed back, and again, and again, and again.

The sun. Its last rays illuminated their warm embrace as if the Gods themselves shone their blessings on them. Edward’s eyes were flecked with gold when he opened them.

Were they like Icarus, flying too high for their own good? Alfred wondered. Despite his happiness, or perhaps precisely because of it he was wary of getting too carried away and start actually believing in some kind of a future together, no matter how sweet it would be. Whenever he had in the past, he lost everything and fell into the abyss without wings to soften the fall. Surely, judging by just how high above the ground he felt in Drummond’s arms on this sun-kissed evening, the fall, which was inevitable, would hurt more than ever before...

‘I love you, Alfred.’

…Hurt all you want, Alfred thought savagely the next second. He kissed Drummond again, wanting him for himself, grabbing at his shirt sleeves, needing him—the only thing stopping him from dragging him down on the grass on the spot were sounds approaching. The merry band of highland guards would be there soon.

At this point, they had been interrupted and obstructed so much it was laughable. But Alfred wasn’t laughing. And he wasn’t giving up. In fact, desire and need flared up in him with such force now that he knew what he needed to do and he needed it now.

‘Come,’ Alfred whispered to Drummond sweetly, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the opposite direction.

‘Our coats!’

Alfred grabbed them off the garden statue and made a run for it, daring Drummond to chase him, which he did.

He didn’t know what had got into him but he made a game out of it; he let Drummond catch up but never catch him, he slowed down and sped up, just out of reach, again and again, playing with him, unabashed, a hide and seek through the forest by the lake.

Catch-me-if-you-can, his vibrant, blue eyes said to Drummond, full of mischief. And Drummond was happy to chase him, addicted already.

‘Where are we going?’ Drummond asked, out of breath but his smile wide.

Alfred just laughed.

They found a folly. Locked. A boathouse. Locked. A lumberjack’s _chaumier_ , also locked. Alfred didn’t even question this anymore as he shook the latch on the abandoned shack to no avail. Everything was working against them but that just egged him on. Drummond was catching up on the idea…

‘Perhaps we should just return to the castle?’ Drummond suggested reluctantly. With the army of servants and guards and Her Majesty herself, they would not hope to make it to their rooms unless dismissed from their duties, which could be past midnight, and then they’d be lucky to meet up undetected. But they had no choice.

Just before Drummond could grab his frock coat from him, Alfred ran down a slope towards the lake where the forest was still thick but some of the sunset’s warm rays were peeking through the trees. The lake below was lively with nature and thousands of orange gems were dancing on its surface.

Drummond would have scolded him for holding his clothes hostage but Alfred was slowing down and turned back to look up at Drummond so beautifully, his face full of colour and life and mischief and so handsome Drummond’s words stuck in his throat.

His legs took him towards Alfred, who wasn’t running anymore.

He was still catching his breath, his sweet giggles coming through, and he couldn’t take his eyes off this deliciously dishevelled version of Drummond, especially as he backed Alfred against a tree and, after just a moment’s hesitation, kissed him more deeply than ever, emboldened by the chase.

Alfred dropped their coats on the ground to free his arms and held Drummond as close to himself as possible, running his palms down firm muscles, his arm, his back, getting lost in him. This may hurt later but for now he just wanted him. He _wanted_ him.

He looked sideways and spotted it, a patch of soft grass shielded by a wall of tall thistles. _Perfect_ , he thought, dizzy from the hike and the kiss.

He pulled Drummond towards that spot and eased him down on the ground with himself, to lie among the flowers in the shade of the bushes, kissing him, always kissing him.

‘Why does this feel so good?’ Drummond asked out loud.

‘You’re overthinking this,’ Alfred laughed against his lips and kissed him all the more, shifting as close to Drummond’s body as he could, flush against him. The heat of their joint bodies could have melted the ice caps. In his attempt to steady himself on the uneven ground, Drummond grabbed Alfred’s hip, which was like fuel to the fire.

Emboldened by this, Alfred’s hand wandered down Drummond’s body, smoothly leaving his waistcoat and shirt unbuttoned in its wake—alas, just before he could reach the buttons of his trousers, Drummond grabbed his wrist and thwarted his attempt.

Alfred then shifted yet closer and started kissing a line down Drummond’s neck sinfully, down his chest, until his chin was inches away from the hem of Edward’s trousers—Drummond cupped his jawline gently and directed him back up, resuming kissing Alfred on his lips instead.

Mad for him, Alfred shifted so close now that his thigh brushed against a bulge that can’t have been Drummond’s tinderbox. It was when his hand wandered south again and had a feel of Drummond’s backside that Drummond broke their kiss.

‘Don’t…’ he whispered despite himself. He couldn’t stop grinning.

‘Don’t what?’

‘We mustn’t… we can’t…’

‘I wasn’t going to do anything…’ _anything illegal_ , Alfred implied. That gave them a lot of leeway.

‘I’m still scared,’ Drummond confessed, despite the obvious spell he was under. He was bursting from desire, too, completely enchanted. But yes, scared.

‘Of what?’ Alfred half-laughed against his lips.

‘I don’t know… of being seen… of the future… of you.’

‘Me?!’

‘A little.’

‘Why?’

‘I fear I’d… I’d just feel embarrassed.’

‘But you’re _perfect_.’

‘I’m not… I don’t know how to… any of this… I’ve never… You must have been with others. Other men. I can tell, Alfred. I worry I’d disappoint you.’

Now Alfred really listened, surprised. Throughout all this, years of playing a game of will-they-won’t-they, even throughout this trip, this day, preoccupied with his own insecurities and feelings or just struggling to find a moment alone… it had never occurred to Alfred that Drummond might have had such a concern.

‘No such thing,’ he reassured him from the bottom of his heart, hoping his eyes communicated just how strongly he felt about him. Yes, he had been with others before but he had never quite had anything close to what he had with Drummond.

But Drummond seemed unconvinced. Totally besotted but yes, still somewhat apprehensive. Alfred pushed himself up on his elbow and cupped his ridiculously handsome and now gloriously flushed face.

He wanted to say he loved Edward. Why not? It was true.

Not the first mistake he would have made. Not the first time he would have made this exact mistake, either. He knew it would bring no good. He couldn’t bring himself to, not after what had happened to him every time before Drummond. That’s why he was so cautious now as well. It always ended the same way.

But he wanted to reassure Edward somehow.

‘This,’ he said, squeezing Drummond’s hip gently, ‘ _this_ is just a way to… a way to express my feelings to you beyond words. A different language. Where words fail me, I need to let you know that I…’

Alfred pressed his lips against Drummond’s. The air was sizzling, the heat of the summer night far from oppressive but a warm bed for them, the sweat on their skin mingling as they kissed more and more.

And yet, Drummond pulled away again, conflicted.

‘Edward, I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want to do,’ Alfred said honestly, his heart warming at the smile he brought to his lover’s lips by addressing him so familiarly. ‘But if you do want something and you are denying yourself, don’t. We said we would make the most of this day. Then let us. Come tomorrow, we can say… what we say… to seal the pact. It stays between you and me. If you wish, we can do anything today and if you regret it we never have to speak of it again.’

‘What if I want to? What if I _want_ to take my time? And carry on? We could find a way…’

Alfred feared this exactly. His heart was crying out for this, too, longing to say yes, yes, that’s what he wanted, too. But he could not. He had never felt any difference in class come between them but his aristocratic practicality was now clashing with Drummond’s mind for progress and innovation. Neither mattered, really. Whoever they were, the world would not be kind to them.

They were losing the sunlight—the fog of dusk dulled the forest.

‘Would it be different if I weren’t engaged?’ Drummond asked out of the blue.

A thousand torments flashed across Alfred’s blue eyes.

Would it be different? Would it?!

Alfred had wasted years of his life tailing men he was once infatuated with—fellow students, soldiers, courtiers—and for what? Some regarded an occasional dalliance with men something to pass the time before a marriage they naturally wanted, but some felt even stronger about their definite preference for men and aversion to women than Alfred himself, and he never had any desire to marry at all; those men he loved, they were certainly surer of their failings when it came to women than Drummond, and yet all of them left Alfred and married anyway. Eventually. Oh, some fought against it, coming to the edge of ruin but upon seeing the depth of the abyss waiting for them they always ended up retreating after all and saving their skin even at the price of immense heartbreak. Perhaps there was a lot of grief and unhappiness that came with it all but the convenience and security always outweighed the bad. Whereas Alfred? He would be left to deal with his heartbreak alone. And no one was prepared to give everything up for him.

Why would this time be different? He could just see it now: Drummond might be one of those that try to get out of their inevitable fate but in the end Alfred would be sitting in a church watching him slip a ring on Lady Florence Kerr’s finger. Just you wait, soon enough that day would come.

Would it be different if Drummond hadn’t been engaged? Perhaps. They would have had more time. But such thinking was pointless now. He _was_ engaged. She was even demanding a date to be set—if one hadn’t been set since they last spoke of it. Any day now, it would be properly announced in the papers with an execution date posted in neat cursive. And then, there really would be no going back. There was no going back, only Drummond with his naiveté still imagined there was. In some respects the sooner they announced the date the better. Prince Ernst was right. The more you try, the more life has a way of ensuring that you can’t be with the one you love.

What had Alfred been thinking? Well, he was blinded by carnal desire. He cursed his Paget blood.

‘You’re right,’ Alfred retreated, shifting off Drummond’s body. ‘I was wrong, completely inappropriate.’

‘Alfred?’

‘We can just kiss. Or just lie here. Or go back to the castle if you wish. I won’t steal your coat again. I… I’m sorry.’

Drummond realised he had touched a nerve. Alfred was so resigned, so sad, he seemed to have extinguished the sunlight himself. He had never seen him quite so defeated—he seemed positively bloodless in the darkening purple dusk.

Edward felt so stupid. What was he thinking? When he was on the coach back to London in the morning he would curse himself for his foolishness.

‘Your shirt, too, by God, the grass has probably ruined it…’

‘Alfred.’

‘…When we get back, just give it to my valet…’

‘Alfred… wait…’

‘…he can work wonders on stains…’

‘Wait—’

‘… albeit, now I’ve given him the night off—’

‘Shh!’

Did Edward just shush him? Alfred was so confused—it was totally outrageous but also weirdly attractive of him. He was looking at him ever so oddly, too. He reached up a hand to Alfred’s face.

‘Don’t move,’ Edward said softly. The next second, like a magician, he lifted a ladybug off Alfred’s cheek ever so gently.

‘Oh.’ Alfred watched the little bug perched on the tip of Edward’s finger for a second before taking flight.

It was such a simple thing, a small wonder of nature, but enough to resolve their argument like a magic spell. Their eyes met, a thousand unspoken words in them but now they could hear each other perfectly.

Their lips met and everything was starting to feel right again. Each passing minute brought more and more comfort with the safety of darkness. Edward deepened their kiss, confidently now. His hand was on Alfred’s hip, very much on purpose this time.

‘You really don’t have to do this,’ Alfred was quick to say, worried he’s offended or pressured Edward.

‘I want to,’ Edward whispered against Alfred’s lips, his voice deep and hoarse from desire.

‘But…’

‘You’re overthinking this.’


	4. Dandelion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward wants to learn more about Alfred, who reveals more about his past in the night than decorum would ever allow in the daytime. Will Edward think badly of him now or will this motivate him in another way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst, dandelion can mean hope and emerging victoriously from challenges...

Afterwards, they lay on the grass for a while in silence. Night had completely fallen, the air was ripe with the perfume of summer flowers, the crickets were singing, and soon their breathing evened.

A spoiled handkerchief lay cast aside by their feet. Edward’s face flushed red again just at the thought of it, how they shared it to wipe their hands rather than leave tell-tale marks on their clothes for servants to find. How it felt to be gasping with rapture with Alfred just minutes ago – so illicit yet perfect. Illicit was a bad word, in truth he felt more _married_ to Alfred than to Florence now that they had known each other in this way, however fleetingly. How he cared more about his lover’s pleasure than his own even when he could no longer control his body. He buried his face in Alfred’s bared chest as if in hiding. He was giddy, embarrassed, in bliss and in love.

‘I don’t want to end this tomorrow, Alfred,’ he said softly in the dark to no response. His pillow was rising up and down more slowly and calmly with each breath. ‘…Alfred?’

Lord Alfred was fast asleep. Like Drummond, he had spent the whole of the previous night awake but unlike him he had only managed to catch about a half-hour’s rest between his never-ceasing responsibilities around the queen. Having let go, then danced and hiked as far away from the as the estate would allow on foot, and finally having exhausted his body in the best of ways, he gave in. Edward smiled to himself: Alfred felt safe enough with him to do all sorts of things and even fall asleep.

Do, but not _say_ all things, it occurred to Drummond. Lord Alfred had always been a master of dissembling. Should you have a sense he was just putting it on, it was because he _wanted_ you to know it. For example, when Alfred hardly spoke to Edward all the way to the French court. To the outside world, he was doing nothing out of the ordinary—his demeanour was perfectly appropriate for someone like the son of a marquess addressing the Senior Private Secretary. But Drummond knew he was getting the silent treatment. It was Hell. He hoped never to be on the receiving end of that again.

Lucky the liberties of the French court eased up that grudge soon enough. Oh, Edward now wondered what if he had gathered the courage to kiss Alfred back then! They would have had that whole joyous journey to spend like… _like this_ , here, in Scotland. What a fool he was, what a coward!

Cowardly, that’s what he was. That’s why Alfred wouldn’t say everything weighing on his shoulders—Edward could tell he had reminded him of something painful earlier. He wanted to amend that, to help Alfred heal from whatever memory occurred to him, but he could only do that if he knew what it was. He would have to find out. And stop being a coward himself. It was definitely connected to his blasted engagement—would it be different if he’d broken it off? Such a stupid question, Edward! Of course it would, that look on Alfred’s face was obvious.

He had to try just one more time.

After all, Lord Lothian even admitted to Florence’s change of character. That’s why he went to the Whig club before France anyway, to discuss her with him. Lothian, while himself tired of his own daughter’s demands and empathetic about Drummond’s doubts, could only apologise and remind him of all the deals that had been exchanged between their families. This connection was already a well-paved channel for business that had been flowing smoothly back and forth between the Kerrs and the Drummonds for years. That’s why Drummond was pushed to propose before he had even finished his studies, before Florence had even had her eighteenth birthday and could have known better than to accept the hand of a chap she’d known for not two whole months. Their families were impatient, and so was Florence. Insisting on setting a date in the middle of a session! Was it really just that she was eager to claim her title as his wife, and therefore her throne in London society? Edward wondered, as he honestly couldn’t remember the last time she had expressed any interest in his interests and ambitions, let alone affection. Perhaps Drummond was as much a business venture to her as to her father.

Perhaps it was just him being short-sighted, inexperienced, or ignorant. She could be hiding something, too. Just like Alfred was. Edward felt peaceful snuggled up to Alfred’s gorgeous body as he slept but he was so desperately sad now. What was Alfred not telling him? What more did he know about these matters? Had he ever been engaged himself? Or was he just speaking from his parents’ experience with scandal? Or was Edward right and Alfred had a lover, maybe even more lovers, in his past that have made him doubt his future with Edward?

‘Oi!’ _Splash!_

Edward sat up. Carefully, he peeked above the thick thistles and squinted through the dark. He could see them in the unshielded moonlight right away and his heartbeats slowed down back to normal with the relief they weren’t spotted like he feared. It was simply a couple from the servant’s reel who went boating on the lake, no doubt believing they’d be unseen—it would have been romantic if they hadn’t tipped the boat upside down! The housemaid was not pleased to be covered in pondweed.

He heard Alfred chuckle behind his shoulder.

‘I’m sorry I roused you.’

‘Not to worry,’ Alfred said dazed from sleepiness. To Edward’s great regret, he was also buttoning up his shirt. ‘We should be heading back before another search party gathers, this time to finds us!’

‘Or before you keel over from exhaustion.’

‘Or that!’ Alfred echoed through a stifled yawn.

They fixed their appearances as best as they could in the dark and made their way up the path, back to the garden, and the castle eventually. It took a lot longer than they remembered now that they weren’t running this distance, yet they hardly spoke all throughout the moonlit walk. They shared several giddy, embarrassed, and flirty looks, giggled a bit, and there were kisses, of course there were kisses. They also quickly devised their strategy on how to return to the castle undetected and a cover story about estate management Sir Robert would find useful. That would account for their prolonged absence and allow them to re-enter together. Luckily, because most of the servants had been out and about for their dance or were already asleep, they didn’t run into any obstacles.

Until Prince Ernst met them halfway down the men’s corridor.

He was a bit confused, as if he only just remembered not having seen these two after dinner. He laughed to himself.

‘Decided to escape that wretched poet, too? Wise choice, gentlemen. I would rather have listened to those insufferable bagpipes for three hours! Goodnight.’

They bowed politely to one another. The prince went into his bedroom. They got away with it.

… Oh, no! Alfred’s heart skipped a beat as he saw it.

‘Alfred?’ Edward asked, fear striking him at Alfred’s expression.

Alfred reached up toward Edward’s face, who stepped away swiftly, looking left and right for signs of anyone that might have seen.

‘We can’t, not here!’ he whispered anxiously, thinking Alfred just forgot himself.

‘No, let me…’ Alfred insisted and reached up higher yet: they hadn’t realised in the faint moonlight outdoors but now he saw by candlelight that there was a lone, little dandelion sticking out of Edward’s curls.

He lifted it out of its bed of chestnut locks and smiled to himself.

‘Deflowered you,’ Alfred teased him with cheek and enjoyed the look on Edward’s face immensely.

It _was_ true. Well, somewhat. And that was all they got. It was well past midnight. All that was left was to travel back home.

Nevertheless, he kept the flower to himself. He looked up at Edward, kissed the petals as a sweet gesture that said a myriad of unspeakable things, and walked away to retire to his own room.

Edward walked quietly back into his as well. He didn’t last ten minutes in there.

He half wished Lord Alfred would have at least pretended he expected Edward to show up in his room but Alfred was already in bed, lights off, and the dandelion resting on his bedside table.

He watched Edward tiptoe in awkwardly with mild surprise. He wasn’t angry, nor did he protest against it. He was too tired for it, Edward supposed as he sat timidly on the edge of the bed.

‘Should I leave?’ he asked.

‘But you’ve just arrived,’ Alfred replied, amused. ‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

Alfred made an effort to shift closer, grabbed Edward by his waist and pulled him properly on the bed. ‘Well, what do you want to do?’ he whispered seductively.

Alfred really was sinfully gorgeous. Did he know just what kind of power he had over his lover?

Edward could have asked for anything. All he had to do was reach out and take it.

But he just went red—Alfred had already shown him immense pleasures, surely he didn’t imagine Edward was so lustful and wanton as to be asking for more?! Lord Alfred would indeed have made angels blush, the way he was lying on the large, four-poster bed among fine linen and brocade in this luxurious room, his nightshirt loose enough to reveal his chest, and the way he was looking at Drummond, in a way he felt naked even though he was fully dressed. But that was not what motivated Drummond to sneak over to his room after all. He placed a gentle hand on Alfred’s where he was caressing Edward’s thigh up and down slowly to stop him.

‘I just couldn’t face the night without you. Daybreak is hours away yet—to quote a wise man.’

Alfred chuckled sweetly. ‘Not so wise. I haven’t slept in a day and a half.’

‘No one could tell. You look perfect.’

‘Even so… I’m afraid I am out of my strength, Drummond.’

‘I enjoyed it when you called me by my first name.’

‘Did you?’ Alfred teased him. ‘And did you enjoy the _rest_ of the evening?’

‘I did.’

‘No regrets?’

‘Only that it has to end.’

Alfred’s smile faded. There it was again, that odd, faraway sadness.

‘Alfred, why can’t we?’

‘I’m really very tired, Edward…’

‘I would ask on the boat tomorrow but we agreed we wouldn’t speak of this again. So I must ask now.’

‘Why can’t we _what_?’

‘Carry on.’

‘Drummond…’

‘I mean I do know _that_ , I deal with the law and Sir Robert and his ideas day in day out. But why don’t you _want_ to?’

‘I want to, it’s everything else.’

Edward didn’t appreciate being lied to. He wasn’t going to be harsh, though, not now, and not when Alfred was in need of a good night’s rest instead of a fight. He made a move to stand up but changed his mind.

‘Can I ask about something else, then? And then I’ll let you sleep, I promise.’

‘…Go on.’

‘Is it true that I am not the first man with whom you’ve… been this way?’

‘No, you are not,’ Alfred replied carefully.

‘What happened? With other men?’

Alfred’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘You are asking me to recount the ways I have been with men?!’

Edward barely found his voice from embarrassment. ‘N-no, that’s n-not what I… I just wondered… who were they? What went wrong that makes you so reluctant about _me_? Something obviously did. Whoever hurt you, I am not him, Alfred. Or is it that I am not worth fighting for?’

‘Not worth it? Edward…’ Alfred scooted closer on the bed, grabbed at Drummond’s shirt sleeves and pulled him into a tight embrace. ‘I would give anything…’ he was too tired to elaborate but the way he kissed Edward spoke for itself. It almost swayed Edward. Almost.

‘Tell me anyway, please?’ he insisted, softening his request with a gentle hand caressing Alfred’s exposed skin, his face, his neck, his hands, to soothe him. ‘I don’t mean any harm. I just want to know. I want to understand. I shall never ask again, nor bring it up once the sun comes up.’

Alfred sighed and resigned himself to the fact that Drummond was a man of learning and facts. Perhaps it would be better if he was in command of more information on just how insurmountable their obstacles were. Perhaps Drummond would even go off him if he knew some of the indelicate things he had got up to.

‘Lock the door, would you, please?’

Drummond obliged and returned to Alfred on the bed.

‘I’m not sure there is all that much to say,’ Alfred began, leaning on Edward’s thigh like a cat begging for affection, too spent to sit up properly and have to look him in the eye. ‘I must spare you the details as they would achieve little else than shock you. Suffice it to say, in my experience, society always wins out.’

‘And if Lord and Lady Anglesey heard you say that…’

‘Don’t be fooled by my family name. You can break _some_ rules but you have to keep to the rest, that tends to be the truth behind every survived scandal. And most scandals cannot be survived. My father would be the first to tell you, but I suppose the day Prince Albert gives up on Christmas would come sooner than the one I’d get you to lunch with Papa…’

Edward bit back a laugh and listened as Alfred turned more serious.

‘Law is seldom the problem,’ he surprised Edward. ‘Class gets in the way—any couple, regardless of sex, could confirm that. How does one go through a single day, let alone all the rituals laid out ahead of us, if their statuses do not compare? It sounds unromantic but that sort of thing seldom lasts. Only in novels, perhaps. If it’s not class it’s something else. Travelers go home eventually. Soldiers get sent to wars and no amount of letters will keep them alive or from finding comfort in another lover in a distant land. Blackmail can also make one give up on anything dear overnight. Then… there’s marriage.’

Drummond got uncomfortable. That referred to him.

‘Not that there aren’t thousands of married men out there who prefer their valets to their wives. But that’s the way of the world, is it not? You know that. Personable little Lady Florence knows that.’

‘Alfred…’

‘Your choice is impeccable, I must say. The younger child of a marquess, just like myself! And so accomplished, too. And she is very fond of you. I can’t help feeling like we’d have a lot to talk about—when we get a chance I do hope she can keep up a duet at the piano with me. Only after your honeymoon, of course.’

‘Stop, it’s not as if I chose this.’

‘You didn’t?’ This was news to Alfred.

‘I’ll tell you my story after you’ve told me yours.’

‘Right, forgive me, I forget myself—I do feel the lack of sleep.’

‘Would you like me to leave?’

‘No. No, you asked me a question and I will answer.’ Alfred was playing with a loose thread that came off Edward’s black evening trousers, thinking. ‘Edward, if there was a way, I would have found it by now. You asked me what went wrong. What _didn’t_? The men I have been with, they are all either dead, fled abroad, or married now. Even those I loved and who I believe loved me back,’ Alfred said darkly.

‘You… you weren’t in love with all of them?’

‘Of course I wasn’t,’ Alfred confessed, going red. ‘This, us, is special.’

‘Then why did you…?’

‘Why do you think?’ Alfred didn’t wait for a reply. ‘I was young and sought experiences.’

Edward swallowed that. ‘Did they know that?’

Alfred pushed himself up on his elbow and took Drummond’s hand. ‘Most men aren’t as wholesome and deep-feeling as you are. They don’t need to care about the person they take to bed.’

Drummond thought of Hugh and his tall tales about girls in town.

‘…If that weren’t true, brothels would go out of business,’ Alfred added.

‘What do you know about b..br… _brothels_? I trust you haven’t been to one.’

‘No. Well, once.’

‘Alfred?!’ Now that truly shocked Drummond.

‘It’s not like that. Shush, I didn’t actually—it was just because William made me.’

‘William?’

Alfred’s eyes went wide. ‘Never mind.’

‘William, what William? Alfred.’

‘It’s not right to demand names of me. It’s not my secret to tell.’

‘You ought to know by now you can trust me.’

‘I do trust you. I just worry it will come as quite a shock. The chap in question is William… William _Peel_.’

Drummond’s hand froze in Alfred’s as dread washed over him.

‘You… and Captain…Captain Peel? Sir Robert’s…?’

‘…son, yes. I met him at the academy, at a shooting match—of course he won, he had been on battlefields since he was a boy. My relationship with him was a tempestuous one, in brief periods when he was in England between long stretches of time abroad fighting in wars. I cared for him more than I should have, for all he cared about me, now I know. But we were young, and… One day he had the brilliant idea that we should visit a house in Moorfields, which we did.’

‘Alfred!? It’s not like you to…’

‘You’d be surprised what one does after oysters and champagne at Ciro’s. Perhaps I should treat you to it once…’

Edward was speechless but Pandora’s box had been opened now.

‘I realised where he’d taken me only once we were there and… He’s always burnt the candle at both ends, to put it this way. You see, I wasn’t enough for him, apparently. I watched him take opium and dally with a chap—I left before long, it was not to my taste, to say the least. Sharing is not for me.’

Hence why Alfred could not imagine carrying on if Edward was to marry. This, though unsaid, rand true between them.

‘But… but… _Captain Peel?_ ’ Drummond asked, still in shock.

‘He made me do things I would never have done of my own accord. He never forced me, that’s not what I meant. I just wasn’t quite as wild as him, who had nothing to lose. What can I say? I was under his spell. Anyway, he’s gone now and he’s never coming back. Last I heard he was headed back to India.’

‘Does Sir Robert know?’

‘Why do you think William’s left? You’re not the only one with secrets.’

Alfred watched Drummond’s handsome silhouette in the dark of the room.

‘I have shocked and appalled you. Feel free to leave, if you wish. Please don’t think too badly of me. I’d be grateful if the things I just said remained our secret indeed, come morning.’

‘I do not think badly of you.’

‘I believe that’s the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me.’

‘Kind? You are nothing but kindness yourself! Even to Sir Robert… Do not misunderstand me, Alfred. I am not judging you, I am shocked at the unkind way you have been treated.’

‘They were not unkind…well, not all of them.’

‘How many—’

‘We all have our reasons for our actions. I have made my peace with it. The problem is when one doesn’t learn.’

Drummond was only half listening to that as he was already ten steps ahead mapping out conversations he would have to have with Lothian and Florence and his solicitor at the earliest opportunity. He was still dreading going back to London but only because he had such a mountainous task ahead of him now. Would he be able to manage it? And without alarming Alfred? Alfred, who was so melancholic he seemed on the verge of crying.

This wasn’t right.

Edward lay gentle hands around Alfred’s gorgeous but fatigued body and convinced him that getting comfortable in his bed at last was a good idea.

Alfred was genuinely half-asleep now but still generous when Edward kissed him. Edward understood better why he was being so defeatist. This lovely man did not deserve to be hurt this way. And Edward wasn’t going to put him through that again, no matter what it cost.

‘So, what do you want?’ Alfred teased him, half-heartedly flicking at Edward’s shirt buttons.

‘I want you to be happy,’ Drummond replied seriously.

Alfred looked up at him strangely, then, his face lit up with one of his charming, gorgeous smiles that Edward lived for.

One last kiss. For good luck, a voice in the back of Edward’s head whispered.

He stayed until Alfred fell asleep but he himself couldn’t rest all night. As soon as he could, he dressed and went for a long walk on the estate. He didn’t even realise until halfway through the forest that he was revisiting the path he had taken with Alfred the night before. He went all the way back to the thistles by the lake. He came across an artefact they forgot to collect in the dark at night: Alfred’s spoiled little handkerchief, the one they used to clean up the mess they made, when... Lucky no one had discovered it.

Again, Edward felt the need to glance around lest someone followed him and read his thoughts. It was ridiculous, all they would have seen was a gentleman on a walk. They wouldn’t suspect what scandalous events he was actually mentally reliving: Alfred shaking in his arms, tensing in his hands, touching him in turn, gasping Edward’s name against his lips in rapture. His heartrate sped up from the sheer memory.

Against propriety, Edward pocketed the handkerchief.

When he returned to the castle, the others were just coming down for breakfast. In fact, just as he entered the downstairs hall, there he was, Alfred, now well-rested, and so happy to see Drummond.

No one jumped on them with chains and Bibles. They got away with it all. Alas, it was the morning of their departure. Time was up.

‘Back to London,’ Alfred said, apologetically, even when he couldn’t stop grinning just looking at Edward. They shared some truly dreamy hours together…

Drummond knew Alfred was, if not happy, then content to cherish their dalliance for what it was and nothing more. Drummond, on the other hand, was having a much more difficult time with it even as he forced himself to echo:

‘Back to London.’

Alfred was looking at him as if he believed he could promise him the world. But now that they had sealed their pact, he couldn’t even reassure him he had a plan. Perhaps that was for the better. On his walk, he decided he would only tell Alfred about his actions when he had already set the ball into motion.

Drummond was prepared to take some of his advice: in order to break some rules, one had to follow the rest. Alright, then. He would try to manage it by the rules. But he would do it all so that he could break his own and far from burying yesterday in a happy past, he would work until he made sure he and Alfred could be happy together in some way.

After all, it was not such a mystery. Why had Alfred distanced himself before France? Because he learned of the engagement. Why did he bury his nose in the Iliad on the way up north? Because the carriage chat turned to Edward’s engagement. Why did he grow sad in the forest the night before? Because Edward brought up his engagement. The conclusion was clear. He had to take care of this problem, better late than never.

Because after last night’s confessions in Alfred’s room, Drummond realised it wasn’t that Alfred wasn’t willing to fight for him, it was that no one had ever done so for Alfred.

Well, Edward would.

‘Would either of you care to learn the bagpipes with me?’ Miss Coke appeared as if out of nowhere again. Edward didn’t mind her this time as she made a good point: ‘I want to treasure these last moments here in Scotland.’

‘So do I, Miss Coke.’


	5. Back to London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drummond's journey back south is more uncomfortable than expected. Lord Alfred and Miss Coke have a confidential chat.

‘For you? …Drummond?’

Edward woke from his thoughts from miles and miles away and stared blankly at the small, silver case presented to him.

‘Hm?’

‘A cigar, Drummond?’ the Junior Secretary repeated himself with controlled impatience.

‘Oh, no thank you,’ Drummond replied at last. ‘Actually, perhaps I will have one.’

Drummond came back down to earth and accepted a cigar from his colleague. He fumbled with his tinderbox against the uneven rattling of the train.

‘Here.’

Drummond gave up on his own attempts and leaned over heaps of documents on their too-small table by the window to dip his cigar in the flame. He caught the eye of a passenger a little way away and sat back in his chair, trying to look as manly and gentlemanly as possible.

Did that stranger sense it on him? What he had done. Did he now exhibit tell-tale signs of a man who had carnal knowledge of another man? A half-criminal? Was it in his eyes, his posture? Were strangers judging him for leaning too close to his traveling mate for fire?

‘Careful.’

‘Damn!’ Drummond brushed his ashes off an important paper as it caught fire at the corner, huffing smoke everywhere in his annoyance.

‘Not long now. The train from York to London will have a proper restaurant car, better for work.’

‘Brilliant,’ Drummond gave it to Stephenson. ‘Can’t wait.’

In all honesty, he couldn’t give a fig about whether there was a swimming pool on the express from York. He could have been traveling comfortably on the boat with Lord Alfred and with the rest of the royal entourage, had it not been for a last minute letter from his immediate junior W. H. Stephenson urgently requiring him on a work journey Sir Robert couldn’t possibly make personally, not now with each debate lasting for days in London just now. He had to leave Blair Atholl right in the middle of their bagpipe lesson, like a soldier called to arms. It all happened so suddenly and publicly he did not even have a chance to say goodbye to Alfred at all. He just nodded awkwardly at him and Miss Coke, wished them a good journey, and left in a haste to make sure he and his suitcases made it on the 12 o’clock from Edinburgh.

That was why, instead of strolling on a sunny deck of a boat with Alfred, Drummond was sitting in a rattling, dingy, smoke-filled train car together with loudly gambling travellers, even more loudly snoring merchants with poultry in cages by their feet, and families with crying children.

He would be hard-pressed to get through the ten-hour journey anyway but he was also covered in ink smudges up to his wrist since they had a mountain of paperwork to get through before a meeting with the regional board of transport and then head right back to London for the debate on the Corn Laws.

Another cry from a baby aboard and he broke his best pen tip. Not that he was able to write legibly, what with the train tracks shaking them about like an earthquake but he went into quick mourning at any rate.

He closed his eyelids as if praying for the heavens for patience.

‘You alright there, Drummond?’ Stephenson jabbed at him with amusement.

‘The train from York, does it also have a first class carriage, or better yet, private compartments?’

Stephenson rolled his eyes. ‘Just you wait, Drummond. I used to be like you until my children were born. You’ll have your own little ones running about you soon enough and you’ll change your tune, mark my words.’

Great, Drummond now felt even more miserable if possible. At the end of this ghastly road, the big problem awaited him. He lit up another cheroot and got back to his papers.

*

Lord Alfred heard footsteps on the deck of the boat behind him.

‘Had the same idea, did you, Miss Coke?’

She smiled at him ever so brightly. ‘It would seem so. Would you care to join me for a walk?’

‘With pleasure,’ he replied politely.

He had come out here in the hopes that a bit of fresh air and the view of the waves would make him forget Drummond for a minute. No such luck. What actually happened was that he had a better view and fresher air to go with his daydreams.

His sweet memories of Edward the night before were also not without worries. Alfred feared he had revealed too much of himself (well…) that he could not take back now. Edward was a man of the world but he was so good-hearted Alfred might have even disgusted him with his unseemly tales.

Once they started strolling leisurely in the sun, he found he was actually glad of the company.

‘Is your great-aunt not going to scold you for being out and about on your own with a bachelor?’ he asked her, feeling like a fraud for safeguarding anyone’s propriety. Him.

‘I wish you would stop talking to me like everyone else.’

‘Like what, pray?’

‘Like I am a child. I know a lot more about the world than I am given credit for, you know.’

‘For example?’ he asked, not at all patronising her but hardly hiding his amusement.

‘For example that you needed company on this walk.’

‘Is that so obvious? Is there something in my walk that suggests I am lonely? Should I change the way I walk?!’

She humoured him with a laugh. ‘It is not in your walk, Lord Alfred. But it is in your eyes. As if you were always looking for something.’

He grew shy. ‘Alright… if you are so observant, Miss Coke, what do you think I am looking for?’ he asked with genuine curiosity.

‘I am not certain. But you do not seem to be looking for it when Mr Drummond is here.’

Lord Alfred avoided her eyes. Miss Coke may fancy herself worldly but she would never have guessed about that, therefore he wasn’t afraid of her discovery. He was, however, rather phased at the way she phrased that which was strangely true.

‘Forgive me if I tend to abandon you ladies when he is here.’

‘It is to be expected.’

‘Yes, Drummond and I have a lot of work between us, politics never sleeps.’

‘It’s not just work.’

‘He is a colleague first and foremost.’

‘And a friend. No shame in admitting that.’

‘And a friend,’ Alfred admitted at last. He may try to distance himself now that they agreed their dalliance was over but there was no denying that they were friends, famously good ones at that.

‘I am not a very good judge of men,’ she said carefully, ‘but I think he has had an excellent effect on you. You need more gentlemen around you, Lord Alfred. It can’t be very interesting to keep us company all the time. I feel bad, it’s as if we treated you as one of us ladies.’

‘Nonsense, you are my friends, too. And _you_ are a pearl among women, Miss Coke,’ Alfred added, sensing a need to flirt a little for the sake of dispersing any image of him as _one of the ladies_. It worked, she was quite flustered.

‘You always exaggerate so…’

‘Perhaps but this is true.’

‘But you see, I find comfort in my friends. If I had to spend most of my days among men, with their usual topics of discussions that are far from my interests, I would make the most of my time spent with my special lady friend, too.’

Miss Coke and a special lady friend?! Alfred bit his lip so as to control his ridiculous thoughts. As ever, Miss Coke meant well, though he doubted she knew just how _special_ his friendship with Edward was.

‘For example, did you know I am good friends with Mr Drummond’s fiancée, Lady Florence Kerr?’

Lord Alfred wished that pain in his chest away or else he eyed the sea with envy. Let him just jump right into it and end this torture.

‘You… you… might have mentioned it in the carriage up north.’

‘Oh, yes, that’s right. I consider her my very good friend. We debuted together! I remember my feathers nearly fell off and she, standing in line after me, fixed it just before it was my turn to go in. Yet, we hardly talk anymore. She is busy and I have my engagements at the court. Besides, I don’t think she really values my acquaintance as she did before Paris. But you don’t want to hear about these things, this is exactly what I meant, I mustn’t bore you!’

‘No, I am not bored, Miss Coke…’

‘You are. I suspect you have had enough of talk of seasons and dresses…’

‘No, no, no, really, do tell me…’

‘Point is: I let a good friendship dwindle and I regret it every day. Perhaps _you_ should nurture your friendship more. You don’t have to spend every evening reading with us or playing cards. You can occasionally supper with Mr Drummond, you know. And perhaps not talk politics for a change.’

He chuckled. ‘And then who would make four at Bridge?’

‘Joke all you want, Lord Alfred,’ she said with surprising wisdom in her voice. ‘I just thought you should know, you’ve a friend in me, too. In case you find a need to talk to someone, you have my total and unconditional confidence. Just ask.’

Something was different about her. As if she was no longer… trying so hard. He had never got the impression she was flirting—or perhaps she was just so bad at it? But now she was addressing him in a clearly more honest and calm manner. None of the overly radiant smiles, no silly giggles at nothing funny in particular.

He smiled at her gratefully.

‘Wilhelmina! There you are! Stop dawdling with Lord Alfred and come back here at once!’ the Duchess of Buccleuch screeched from a little was down the deck.

Miss Coke sighed. ‘As if every gentleman was dying for my hand!’

‘You _are_ on a promenade alone with a bachelor, _Miss_ Coke. Unsupervised.’

‘Please, Lord Alfred, you and I have spent enough time alone for my aunt to know you can be trusted in the company of women.’

‘You should go anyway, I will not tarnish your reputation, Miss Coke.’

‘No, you won’t…’

Lord Alfred watched her pensively as she walked back to her tyrannical chaperone. If he hadn’t known her better, he would have assumed she was trying to tell him something. Well, she did tell him to spend more time with Mr Drummond outside of work, and that was advice he could gladly take.

There was something new that was bothering him. Miss Coke was apparently well-acquainted with Edward’s fiancée… Lord Alfred had done all he could to remain as blissfully ignorant about her as possible thus far but now he reconsidered this. Might it not be useful to gather more about her? Just in case. And he didn’t even have to ask Edward. Miss Coke was right there, he only needed to ask.

*

‘That’s better!’ Stephenson remarked and called dibs on the side of the compartment facing forwards.

Drummond would have been annoyed but the meeting with the regional board had gone well in York, this first class train and a private compartment of their own seemed better suited for another 10-hour journey ahead of him, and he was still in turning to Scotland in his heart anyway. He wasn’t going to complain.

Stephenson did not have the same concern.

‘…and the debates have been going on and on every night, the backbenchers are stirring, and this time they are not backing down. Like sharks, sensing blood in the air.’

‘Now, there,’ Drummond scolded him as the door of the compartment opened and a trolley lady offered them coffee and sandwiches.

‘What, it’s true,’ the junior secretary went on, shoting his cup of coffee courtesy before Drummond even had the chance to accept his politely. ‘Between you and me, I think Sir Robert knows this is his swan song as well.’

‘Thank you,’ Drummond said to the trolley lady, tipping her so generously that she threw in a box of biscuits next to their sandwiches. He closed the door behind her before turning to his colleague. ‘Do you really think so?’

‘Well, it has to be. If he loses this row, he’ll have to resign. If he wins, he breaks the party in two, and then he’ll really have to resign! Can’t end well.’

‘I suppose there’s no chance of a compromise,’ Drummond said rather than asked.

‘You know Sir Robert better than I, Drummond. He’s not backing down. It’s a matter of principles.’

‘Hm.’

They composed a report in silence while getting through their lunch, and two more cups of coffee, and the conversation turned to less political matters.

‘How was the trip, then? With Her Majesty?’ Stephenson asked.

‘Oh, it was most excellent.’

‘Not homesick, are you?’

‘I’m not sure what that refers to anymore, London or Scotland.’

‘You can take the Drummond out of Scotland but not Scotland out of Drummond, eh, Drummond?’

‘Hear, hear. I certainly didn’t miss London,’ he said vaguely. His work colleague did not need to know about the first thing about his personal matters. Didn’t stop him prying:

‘And your fiancée? You must be missing her.’

‘Just as much as she must miss me,’ Drummond said cryptically, meaning they did not miss each other at all.

‘Oh, don’t be like Sir Robert.’

‘Like what?’

‘So diplomatic and proper. He’s not here now. God, you’re a bore.’

‘Meaning you regard Sir Robert a bore.’

Stephenson threw a crumpled up paper at Drummond. ‘Wonder how he does it.’

‘Does what?’

‘Being the Prime Minister. Isn’t that what all our ambition is, all of us who’ve gone into politics? At this rate you shall be the youngest PM, believe you me, my dear chap.’

‘You call me a bore, then you compliment me. If you were more consistent, Stephenson, you might just be in my position and going onwards and upwards.’

‘I’d have to get rid of you for that!’ Stephenson joked, pretending to shoot Drummond with a finger gun.

‘That reminds me: the new bill you mentioned.’

‘Ah, yes, about the offences against the person.’

Drummond’s collar felt tighter. ‘Not another restriction on… men…?’

It took Stephenson a second to catch on. ‘Oh! God, no. This is about the insane. There you are,’ he said and handed to Drummond a file from the bottom of the pile. ‘First order of business in London, on Prince Albert’s request. I’m surprised you were left out of the loop, what with you practically living at the Palace!’

‘I don’t… not that often…’ Drummond muttered, knowing fully well that he did tend to grab every opportunity to pop over on any pretext in the hopes of bumping into Lord Alfred.

He scanned through the pages. ‘All signed, sealed, and delivered then?’

‘Not quite delivered. Trouble is, no one’s actually been hurt.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Unwrinkle that decorative face of yours, will you, chap? I don’t mean to sound distasteful. I only mean that, though the bill makes sense in its wording, it may be thrown back by the Lords on the basis that there is simply not enough danger to warrant it.’

‘But Her Majesty has been targeted, oh, how many times has it been now?’

‘I know! But none of the would-be assassins had the wits to load their guns before firing at her. Then, I suppose, if they had had the wits, they wouldn’t have attempted such a thing in the first place. Anyway, as you can see, according to the bill, any imbecile must not only be ignorant of the seriousness of their own actions but about the wrongness thereof. That’s new, yes, but not groundbreaking. A precedent, that’s what is needed. But then I heard through the grapevine that Humphries at the Old Bailey is sharpening his fangs for just such a case to defend an offender’s right to plead insanity even in the case of murder. And for that, there needs to be a murder.’

‘Perhaps with pressure from the Prince we can avoid that.’

‘Oh, Sir Robert wouldn’t embarrass himself like that again. They already ridicule him behind his back for tugging on the Prince’s skirt all the time.’

‘Then, perhaps a strong ally in the Lords in advance of debating this bill? The Duke of Wellington?’

‘Maybe…’

‘I should write to him.’

‘If you ask me,’ Stephenson continued without being asked, ‘this needs someone less like Wellington, who albeit decorated is all but retired, and more like someone who’s still in the thick of things and a bit mad himself. Ha! Perhaps Sir Robert should call home his son, the captain.’

Drummond looked up sharply from the papers. ‘William?’

‘Are you on friendly terms with him or something?’

‘No! No terms at all. Never met him. Are you?’

‘Not friendly.’

‘But you have met him?’

‘I have. Why?’

‘What is he like?’

‘I don’t know… I only conversed with him briefly once. That was enough. Too vulgar for me.’

‘For you?’ Drummond asked, hardly believing anyone could be more outspoken than Stephenson in private.

‘Are you calling me vulgar?!’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Ah, fair enough. But if I’m vulgar, we must invent a new word for young Captain Peel,’ Stephenson glanced at the compartment door and leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Between you and me, they say his _aide de camp_ aids him in polishing his musket not just on the battlefields… if you know what I mean…’

Drummond had the most difficult time controlling his face yet.

‘I… I shall pretend not to know what you meant.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Stephenson laughed and lit another cheroot.

‘If he is such a brute, we ought never to use him to vouch for a bill of Sir Robert’s. Anyway, is he not in India?’

‘What’s this sudden interest of yours in Captain Peel?’

‘I ought to be aware of the facts for Sir Robert.’

Stephenson accepted that argument without a fight. ‘I thought he was just in Italy.’

‘Italy? But that’s not so far.’

Stephenson made a face as if to say “what’s it to you?” and Drummond dropped the subject and went back to his work. Or at least pretended to, for he was left battling his thoughts and feelings about Lord Alfred and Captain Peel for the remainder of the lengthy journey back to London.

He skipped dinner and went straight to bed as soon as they were back at 10 Downing Street, blaming it on the tiresome journey. He wished he could sleep but he was out of such luck. The ceiling was mocking him as it stared back all night at Edward.

Was Alfred simply ignorant about Peel’s whereabouts or did he lie to Drummond for some reason? Why would he do that? “Why do you think?” Alfred said when questioned on his intentions with former lovers… Drummond worried Alfred regarded him as just another willing participant to pass the time with and seduce in a moment of irresponsibility.

No, Alfred said what they had was special. He had been nothing but supportive and caring, in the real ways. When Edward was unsure about going too far in the forest, Alfred understood and he was happy to simply kiss or lie together. Would someone behave like that who was simply after sexual gratification?

But then, though Lord Alfred was all golds and silvers and pastel blues, the façade hid a history beyond anyone’s imagination. He, who was in the centre of the finest society, had engaged in illicit encounters so many times he didn’t even want to admit it.

He had to see Alfred again, as soon as possible, that was the solution. If Lord Alfred ignored him, Drummond would know he had fulfilled his purpose and had been used after all. If Alfred was still his usual self, Drummond knew there was hope.


	6. A Dinner Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Alfred is conflicted, trying to distance himself but still curious. Drummond is even more conflicted by his mixed signals, which motivate him to take steps. When he hits a bump in the road, he invites Alfred on a dinner date.

‘Wait up, Drummond!’ Sir Robert ordered in annoyance.

‘Apologies, sir,’ Drummond replied and slowed his steps.

The fact was, the Prime Minister could hardly keep up with him as they were on their way to the Queen’s study for their audience. Drummond tried to contain his excitement but apparently he forgot to control his speed. In all honesty, however, he wanted to run down the hallway just on the off chance Lord Alfred would be waiting at the end of it.

‘What’s with you today?’ Sir Robert asked as they waited to be allowed entrance.

‘I just find I am rather excited about this bill,’ Drummond explained lamely.

‘If you are so excited about this, what will you do when the day of the Corn Law vote finally arrives?’

The footman announced their entry was granted. In the stepped, and indeed, to Drummond’s great delight, Lord Alfred was present for the meeting. He couldn’t believe just how lucky he was to have won the affections of this beautiful man. Why wasn’t everybody as delighted by Lord Alfred as he was?! Her Majesty, the Prince, Sir Robert, the footmen—how could everyone just go about his business as usual when _he_ was there?!

He somehow performed his role while the new bill about assailants pleading insanity was presented to Her Majesty. It all went smoothly and so quickly. It was already time to leave.

But, though apprehensive beforehand, Drummond was bowing and backing out of the room with his heart secretly soaring since he had noticed that Lord Alfred was just as eager to steal covert glances from Drummond throughout the audience! That was enough for him to know Lord Alfred was far from ceasing amicable relations with him. This encouraged him to fall back and try to catch a private word with Alfred.

‘Do you think I should tell Sir Robert about the queen’s Caledonian adventures?’

Alfred humoured him with a smile. How he wished he could kiss him! But Alfred’s smile faded too soon.

‘I think… Scotland is a long way from home.’

Why would Alfred say that and walk away? Drummond was up all night mulling this over. When he was so warm otherwise? But his words… so final, too.

Of course, Drummond remembered, Alfred did not know that he would begin tackling the problem standing between them. He was all the more motivated for it. He would write to his solicitor first thing in the morning.

What Drummond also did not know, in turn, was that Lord Alfred had a conversation with Miss Coke earlier that day that discouraged him from giving Drummond any misleading signs. Although Alfred had woken and dressed and gone about his business just a little brighter at the prospect of seeing Drummond again one of these days ever since he had got back to London with Her Majesty, his curiosity had got the better of him and he made the mistake of asking.

‘Do tell me more about Lady Florence, please,’ he addressed Miss Coke on a promenade earlier that day in a manner he hoped came across as casual.

‘What would you like to know?’ she replied from under her flowery parasol curiously unfazed.

‘Do you often see her?’

‘I used to!’ she brightened up. ‘Like I said, we became friends when we came out together. We were about 16 years old then.’

‘Then you must have known about her engagement to Mr Drummond quite early on.’

‘Oh, I did know there were plans with someone but she was too shy to reveal whom. She was even shier than me back then, if you can believe it. How come you are not acquainted, being of the same rank?’

‘Well now, Miss Coke, I am, after all, the Chief Equerry and Clerk Marshall. Indeed, I began at court as a Lieutenant in the Royal Horse Guards, not merely as a favoured guest at a _débutants’_ ball, at the risk of sounding conceited.’

‘No, you are right. I do apologise, I forget—gentlemen with your kind of titles usually intimidate me too much to converse with!’

‘I am glad to be the exception.’ Nevertheless, Lord Alfred stood up taller. To be compared to a dewy-eyed daughter of a marquess whose greatest achievements were playing the piano and curtseying without falling over!

And that dewy-eyed girl was going to take Drummond’s name soon.

‘I believe they were all waiting for her 18th birthday,’ Miss Coke tried to remember. ‘But then, almost immediately, she received the honour of being asked to accompany her aunt to Paris.’

‘Some people have all the luck.’

‘She returned quite a lot more accomplished than she was before. And no longer shy at all. Indeed, I miss her but then when I do go out with her, she is not willing to step into the carriage with me unless I fit her criteria perfectly. She has such an eye for fashion.’

‘What’s wrong with the way you dress?’ Lord Alfred asked kindly.

‘Oh, if you saw her. She is very fashionable. But the date was pushed back and then there was her illness…’

‘What sort of illness?’ he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

‘Just a spot of anaemia, but it did mean a short time away at the seaside. By the time she returned to London, Mr Drummond was becoming more and more successful. And so, as you might know it yourself, Mr Drummond asked to postpone the planned date.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Oh! You didn’t know! Forgive me.’

‘He might have mentioned she was pressing him for a set date a few weeks ago.’

‘But look at me, gossiping! I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn.’

‘No, it’s quite alright. I do not mean to pry, my intention is to simply become more acquainted with their history so I do not embarrass myself when, perchance, I… see them.’

‘I suppose it is bound to happen sooner or later,’ she said as if she felt sorry for him.

‘What makes you say that, Miss Coke?’ he asked in as jovial a tone as he could manage given his true feelings, which were eating at him inside.

‘Only because… I believe an announcement is imminent.’

‘It has not even been announced?’

‘Well, no, not without a date. And there will be a date by the end of this week, if you ask me.’

Alfred nearly tripped on the gravel. ‘Will there?’

‘She wrote me this morning and mentioned it, yes. It’s funny you should have asked about her. All day I have been struggling to form a reply. It is rude not to but she has invited me to shopping in the city tomorrow and the truth is I am dreading it. She is very particular about her friends’ appearance. My pink frock needs mending.’

‘Why not simply wear a different frock?’

‘She doesn’t like any of my other frocks.’

An idea struck Alfred. ‘Perhaps I can amend that.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I know all the latest fashions. I can help design some adjustments for your maid to make on one of your dresses—the golden one, perhaps, it suits your complexion so well.’

‘What are you talking about?’ the Duchess of Sutherland stepped to them at a gravel crossing in the garden.

‘Dresses!’ Lord Alfred told her excitedly. With Harriet, his plan would work even better.

‘I am listening,’ the duchess said and Alfred allowed the ladies to link arms with him each and walk with him towards the fountain as he devised his plan on how they might astonish even picky Lady Florence with a new dress for Miss Coke.

And with that, he ensured that he got himself an invitation to meet Edward’s famous fiancée. He would have to get out of that but first, he welcomed the distraction of Miss Coke’s dresses because from what the ladies said, Alfred would read about this most handsome match in the engagement column before the week’s end. And that, was a fact.

A fact, which let him know he must keep his small talk to a minimum when Sir Robert and Drummond came to the Palace in the evening.

*

‘You look like you’re in need of a cup,’ Stephenson remarked and placed a sizeable cup of coffee on Drummond’s desk.

‘Too right, I am!’ he muttered gratefully and grabbed for the mug.

His head was splitting. Never ending debates, hundreds of (supposedly) gentlemen shouting at one another all day long in the house, of course his skull felt as if a bullet was lodged in it. The worst part of it was, the opposition seemed timid compared to those conservatives that turned against their leader. Bentinck was going on a real rampage, having to have his time in the spotlight. The arguments stooped lower and lower every day. Even Sir Robert’s own character was attacked! Personally. Drummond did not think it a grand idea to allow the Prince to watch the debates, and it did cause them immense embarrassment. Indeed, the fact was that Sir Robert’s controversial free trade proposition in the wake of the famine caused a split in his party.

Once, Drummond had to pull Sir Robert out of the chamber to calm him down. Sir Robert compared him to his wife then! Of course, Drummond did nothing to disperse mentions of his impending marriage after that remark. The last thing he needed was to seem too wifelike in Sir Robert’s eyes.

However, in reality, Drummond had taken the first steps towards breaking off his engagement. After last night’s visit to the Palace, he called on his solicitor first thing this morning and he talked him through the steps. The biggest concern was the existing business transactions that have already taken place in good faith that Edward would indeed marry Florence and the Lothians and the Drummonds would have a legally joint account through which to conduct business. And then, there was the added headache of Lothian potentially suing Drummond for Breach of Promise, something that after so many years of engagement (indeed, three years was really stretching it compared to the customary 6-12 months!) was well within his rights. All this, naturally, had to be worked out with his solicitor in a manner that gave him no suspicion of Drummond’s true motivations.

Unfortunately, he found he could not get anywhere real with his solicitor unless he made up a plethora of reasons as to why on earth such a strapping, healthy, young, moneyed bachelor would ever want to step back from a marriage so promising in every way and to a bride so appealing.

It was no surprise that Edward needed a damn strong cup of coffee.

He had been debating it ever since he had left his solicitor’s office in the morning. He would have to enlist a lawyer that was practiced in the art of broken relationships. He never thought he would do this but, though he had just spent hours on the benches opposite Lord Anglesey, lunching with him didn’t seem like such a horrible idea now.

Well, stranger things have happened at sea. He got a letter paper and started writing.

_“Lord Alfred,_

_I hope this letter finds you well._

_I would be honoured if you joined me for dinner whenever convenient. I have news that might interest you and a request concerning Lord Anglesey._

_Awaiting your reply with a date and a place of your preference._

_Yours—”_

Drummond swore under his breath, threw the letter on the fire, and rewrote the entire thing on a fresh piece of paper.

_“Your Obedient Humble Servant,_

_Edward Drummond Esq.”_

Drummond reread his own writing ten times over for any signs that would give away his true feelings for the addressed Lord Alfred. His signature could not have been more formal, and his reason more respectable. He folded the letter and got a page boy to deliver it to the Palace with haste.

Perhaps it was time he initiated Lord Alfred into his plans anyway.

‘Are you sure you’re not coming, Lord Alfred?’ Harriet asked him as he gallantly helped her into the carriage with Miss Coke.

‘I am.’

‘But you should be there to see if your creation passes Florence’s test for taste.’

‘I have already spent far too long away from my desk as it is for today. Enjoy yourselves.’

‘Very well,’ Harriet sighed and let Alfred clap twice to signal for the groom to drive away.

He was smiling but he would rather have eaten his own cravat than go shopping with Lady Florence.

However, he was quite proud of the quick yet marvellous work Miss Coke’s lady’s maid had done on her dress according to his designs. He made sure the neckline could be altered so as to be modest enough that the Duchess of Buccleuch would notice nothing. However, as soon as the ladies were off, Miss Coke could easily adjust her dress so as to look fashionable enough for the notoriously particular Lady Florence who fancied herself a voice on style because she once went to Paris.

He was stopped by Brodie on his way back to his office.

A note from Drummond.

He thanked the boy and stepped away for privacy. The letter was short but clear. Despite the formality of his words, Alfred’s heart sped up.

‘Wait! Brodie!’

‘Can I take a reply back, my lord?’

‘Yes. Tell Mr Drummond: Ciro’s at eight.’

‘Very well, my lord.’

Well, it seemed Alfred also needed to pick a nice outfit for himself for the evening.


	7. A Forgone Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dinner a deux starts fashionably late and ends unfashionably early. But will Lord Alfred make amends before it's too late? Is the risk worth it?

Alfred couldn’t wait for him to get to the restaurant but Edward was being fashionably late.

He was eager—that much was not only clear but something that worried Alfred somewhat—but tonight, evidently, he thought better of seeming too eager. It was Edward, after all, who invited Alfred to dine out. What sort of a gentleman would he have been if he had also shown up on time?

Perhaps he wasn’t so innocent at all, Alfred thought smiling to himself. Perhaps Edward meant to be perfectly transparent by suggesting this dinner, perhaps he counted on Alfred picking Ciro’s, and perhaps he fancied the idea of champagne and oysters with full awareness of their rumoured aphrodisiac properties.

Edward did not ask all those prying questions in order to judge Alfred for his experience, then. On the contrary. He wanted to take him up on the offer.

Alfred tried to hide his smirk. He shouldn’t seem too happy. Happy is not what he was at all anyway, not after the past couple of days spent around Miss Coke and getting much more talk of Lady Florence than he ever bargained for. An announcement was imminent. Before the end of the week. It hurt, he could not lie but it just showed how far out of his hands all this was. He was excited to see Edward soon— _how soon?—_ because seeing Edward was delightful at all times. However, he would especially welcome the prospect of getting creative with late night activities with him after port if it meant he could forget about the inescapable topic of the engagement.

He failed to remember ever having met this infamous fiancée. He must have, they had plenty of shared social circles. Had he met her but found her too unremarkable? Well, Miss Coke cared for her opinion a great deal.

Miss Coke, Alfred pondered as he began to fiddle absent-mindedly with the flowers on the table, was in a rather strange and subdued mood after the outing with her and Harriet. What was it she said? It was a story from the Bible…

_‘Is that the Bible, Miss Coke? On a Wednesday?’ Alfred chatted her up earlier that evening. She was reading in the hallway all by herself._

_‘I was just reading about David and Jonathan. When Jonathan dies, David says he loves him with a love surpassing women. I never knew that the Bible could be so tender.’_

Yes, that was it, Alfred now remembered. After this, she changed course very suddenly, complimented him on his looks (good, he had made rather an effort), and wished him a good evening out.

He wondered whether she had had a secret adventure of her own in Scotland. She seemed to have wizened up so quickly and she has taken to saying just the things that were on his mind.

David and Jonathan. Not so unlike Achilles and Patroclus.

A tiny spark of fear lit up in Alfred’s heart: Miss Coke may have been sitting in the hallway strategically in order to catch him on his way out, just _happening_ to be reading this passage. Was this another transparently overeager act to get closer to Alfred by taking inspiration from his own reading or did she mean to imply something that had everything and nothing to do with his marriageable status?

Alfred felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

‘My apologies.’

Alfred’s face brightened up at Edward’s sight.

‘The Corn Laws debate will go on for days,’ he explained, still in Private Secretary mode, as he sat down opposite Alfred. ‘The sleeping beauties on our backbenches have woken up and they aren’t happy.’

‘I know, my father and his friends think repeal will be the end of civilization as we know it,’ Alfred said brilliantly casually for a man who just mentally counted how many items of clothing he was looking forward to taking off Edward’s heavenly body and in which order.

‘With respect, the days when men like your father will rule this country are coming to an end.’

‘Well… Poor Papa!’ Alfred came to. Small talk, small talk… big hopes for the night: Edward seemed to be in a terrific mood. Indeed, his eyes reflected all the excitement and joy in Alfred’s.

‘Let’s not talk about politics.’

 _Let us not indeed._ ‘Oysters and champagne,’ Alfred told a waiter trying not to seem too eager.

Judging by his face, the implications of this did not go over Edward’s head. He suppressed his smile quite quickly, though. _Oh, no, please don’t spoil it,_ Alfred prayed mentally but just as he feared Edward addressed him in a far more serious tone next:

‘There’s something I must tell you.’

‘You’ve set a date, haven’t you? For your wedding,’ Alfred guessed without hesitation. Unbelievable! He couldn’t even get to the entrées anymore without having to discuss lucky Lady Florence anymore! This is why he could never be the lover of a married man. Coupled people tended to mould into one entity sooner or later, one which forgot about _I_ ’s and only spoke in _we_ ’s. It was already happening to Drummond before the nuptials even took place!

Edward cast his eyes on the settee guiltily. Good! He finally realised he kept bringing it up all too often then.

‘I’ve decided to break off the engagement.’

_Oh._

Alfred was right and wrong. He can’t say he hadn’t been prepared for something like this but now it was there he wished he could stuff the words back into Edward’s kissable mouth. He thought of the best thing to say to get this out of the way quickly so that they could begin the real part of the evening:

‘Why? She seems like a perfectly admirable wife for a man with prospects.’ Perhaps that came out thornier than he intended but Alfred wasn’t going to blame himself.

Edward looked slightly affronted. ‘I think you of all people must understand why it cannot be.’

‘Cannot be? How dramatic you are, Drummond!’ Alfred replied as flippantly as he could manage to counterbalance Edward's energy.

‘After Scotland?’ Edward asked, glancing around cautiously and leaning forward for confidentiality. ‘I feel it’s only right!’

He shut his mouth without Alfred having to warn him as the waiter returned with the champagne. The tension while he poured was so palpable the glasses might have cracked and smashed into smithereens from the force of it. Wars could have broken out in the no man’s land over the fine china.

Alfred reached for his champagne, watching the bubbles rise rapidly up from the bottom of the crystal glass to the top in obedient columns and disappear when reaching the surface. Was that not a perfect metaphor for their fates? One could shake the glass, he discovered in his foolish, curious youth when drinking had still been a novelty and only allowed in measured quantities at dinner, but the bubbles would follow their prescribed paths regardless, falling in line until _pop_ , they died. An earthquake could shake the world but they would not relent. That was the order of things.

And just like that, gentlemen, and men and women of every class and of every walk of life, had no choice but to follow their path. The world was not kind to those that rebelled against this fact.

He considered what he would have to say next more carefully. It could not have been simpler, so he tried to break it down as simply as possible once again to Drummond:

‘A successful politician needs to have a wife. Now, you are going to be a successful politician, Drummond, I know it. You’re going to make a difference in the world. But you can’t throw that away for some… indiscretion.’

‘An indiscretion?’

Alfred could not stand this. He looked pointedly into Edward’s eyes, begging him silently to quit this here and now and listen to his reason. ‘I can’t let you jeopardise your career.’

‘Surely that is for me to decide!’

‘You are not thinking clearly, Drummond.’

The oysters arrived.

Edward folded up his napkin. ‘I find I am not hungry,’ he said, more affronted than Alfred had ever seen him, and he could swear Edward’s voice had a shaking quality to it that it only does when one is failing to suppress tears.

But Edward left the restaurant all too swiftly. Alfred waved the waiter away and thought about what to do now.

Edward was being so naïve! Alfred trusted his ambition to carry him towards a career so huge he would surely make history sooner or later. In turn, he was inexperienced in _those_ matters so why could he not trust Alfred on this? Was he that foolish? Or, and Alfred wanted to listen to this idea more, was he that blinded by love?

Alfred re-assessed his own words. Perhaps he had been the one who was blinded—by less noble intentions. The hurt on Edward’s face when Alfred had called their happy time in Scotland an indiscretion…

 _…no, this is not you, Alfred_ , he thought to himself and before he knew it he was out of the restaurant. He was looking for a carriage, a cab, perhaps he was still close by.

There he was! Edward had not hailed a cab, he seemed to be walking down the street. Walking? Marching, more like. His top hat may have been pulled low to shade his eyes as he cut through the crowds on the pavement but his height and physique were like magnets to Alfred’s attention, who chased after him swiftly enough to reach him before he disappeared.

‘Wait, please! Drummond! Drummond. _Edward._ ’

Edward finally turned around at the sound of his first name.

‘I’m sorry, I did not express myself well in the restaurant,’ Alfred panted at once, taking off his hat for a sign of respect and humility.

Drummond gave a humourless laugh. A dagger in Alfred’s heart.

‘You expressed yourself perfectly well. Goodbye, Alfred.’

‘May we talk, please?’ Alfred was borderline begging him, wishing pedestrians away. ‘Somewhere private? I truly regret what just happened, I mean to make it right. Please. We are friends and gentlemen, after all.’

Edward’s aching heart could not give a fig about being a gentleman right now but he realised they had an audience in pedestrians as well and relented: ‘My house?’

‘Downing Street would be like a work meeting in an office.’

‘No, not there. I’ve a private address. It’s only my sister and a maidservant there.’

‘Where?’

‘Mayfair.’

‘No, let us go to my address, then.’

‘The Palace? I thought you wanted privacy.’

‘I have a house on Grosvenor Place. It’s in walking distance. Please.’

Drummond hesitated between the other side of the road and Alfred. He was still extremely cross but he adjusted his hat and nodded for him to show the way.

Alfred could have cried from relief but given Drummond’s fragile confidence in him, he did as told and walked Drummond to a magnificent, white-façade, three-storey townhouse the south corner of Buckingham Palace Gardens.

‘This is yours?’ Drummond asked, walking up the steps of this most elegant house.

‘It is.’

‘How come I’ve never seen or heard of it?’ Edward had to ask, feeling like this is another part of Alfred’s life he’s been left out of.

‘Because I never use it. My siblings tend to stay here when in London but I find it easier to complete my daily tasks residing at the Palace.’

Alfred fumbled with a keychain and they were in. The hall was dark and empty. Behind a wide archway Drummond could see that the drawing room was just as abandoned and lifeless. It was fully furnished and decorated but white sheets covered the furniture to protect them while not in use.

Alfred suggested they go to the upstairs suite for comfort and to be above street level so as to remain unseen.

The moonlight was strong enough so that neither of them lit a candle to illuminate their path up carpeted, marble stairs. Alfred led Drummond through a door off the landing, into a perfectly sized suite: a sitting area with yet more covered furniture arranged around an empty fireplace with a bedchamber in plain view behind an archway with a column on each side in the popular neo-classical fashion of the day. Silver rays were shining on a curtained bed, a chaise longue by its foot, a vanity, reading tables, plush armchairs and poufs, all hidden from view by white sheets, as white as the moon, as white as Lord Alfred’s face in the dark.

Because Drummond was still looking awfully stern. Just like in the restaurant, Alfred didn’t know it was possible for those warm, brown eyes of his, which gave comfort to Alfred on darkest nights, to be so cold. He shivered from under his gaze despite the mildness of the summer breeze wafting through the house.

‘Well, what have you to say?’ Edward demanded, wishing his voice wasn’t still shaky and thus giving away his real feelings.

Alfred tiptoed closer on thinnest ice.

‘Firstly, I just wanted to apologise properly. I do not know what had got into me. You might appreciate this is an emotional time for me, too. I am more affected than I dare to let you know. However, that is no excuse for the way I spoke to you at Ciro’s. I may have more experience in these matters but it was not my intention to be so patronising. I understand I’ve no right to determine your future.’

‘That’s just it, Alfred, I do want you to determine my future.’

‘I cannot. You know very well.’

‘Why not?’

Alfred gave a frustrated huff, which felt like a slap in the face for Edward.

‘You know, I was actually going to ask you tonight to acquaint me with Lord Anglesey.’

‘With Papa?!’

‘That’s right, for further legal advice.’

‘What?! I thought you detested his politics.’

‘His politics, yes. But I spoke to my solicitor in the morning. I am glad to say he has left me optimistic: the engagement has not been publicly announced despite its lengthy course, I can simply convince Florence to let us call it off—’

‘God!’ Alfred swore, kicking a pouf out of his way. ‘Why must every conversation of ours inevitably steer onto the topic of your fiancée?’

‘Because it must be dealt with, once and for all!’ Edward insisted despite being affronted by Alfred’s passionate loss of manners. _Good_ , he thought, _Alfred did care!_ ‘I would have taken care of it on my own and not bothered you with it until the end—’

‘Oh, thank you for thinking of me in this most trying time. How awful it must be for you!’

‘—but I need your help,’ Edward pressed on disregarding the cheek he was thrown. ‘My solicitor is not the man for the job and he demands my motivations before he agrees to help in practice. Your father’s lawyer, surely, is bound to ask fewer questions.’

‘Are you asking me to ask my father’s help on getting you unengaged?!’

‘Only his solicitor. I just need introductions. The rest, I shall take care of, don’t worry.’

‘”Don’t worry?!”’

‘Why not? What could be better?’

‘Better than the greatest embarrassment of your life?!’

‘Please, it is only little embarrassment for a lifetime of benefits. Imagine, Alfred! I would not marry, I wouldn’t be sold to someone else, someone I do not and cannot love. Imagine what we could be without her, without her taking over every conversation! We could be free from all that. It could be like it always has—’

‘But it would not be like always.’

‘—I would often go to the Palace--’

‘Sir Robert is bound to resign any day now and even if he weren’t, if you break off your engagement you may not be welcome at court anymore, or at least for a while.’

‘—we would go riding, and out for dinner—’

‘For me to be seen riding and dining with you might be interpreted as a diplomatic indecency between the crown and the government.’

‘—and perhaps we could meet at my house sometimes—’

‘Shushing ourselves lest your sister discovers us, that’s all we need.’

‘—or even here.’

‘Here?’

‘Why not?’

‘I do have a career of my own, you know, and plenty of daily obligations that I can do best from the Palace.’

‘It’s not so far from the Palace, you can see it from the windows, look!’

‘And what reason would I give to Her Majesty for suddenly moving out? Hm? Not to mention a whole inquiry by my family that would be sure to follow!’ Alfred raised his voice, casting aside his stifling frock coat, and his cravat as well, from frustration.

‘You have served at the Palace for, what, ten years? It’s perfectly understandable you should like to move into your private residence by now, continuing what you know I believe is a remarkable and respectable career.’

‘On what pretext? Look at this house! It has a ballroom! This is not fit for a bachelor! It was bought on my name with the idea that its several, spacious rooms would host a handful of children and a sociable chatelaine who invited a dozen guests every evening!’

Edward looked up to the ceiling as if in prayer to keep sudden tears at bay. Alfred’s words stung but what undid him was that he could not bear the sight of Alfred’s fine cravat—the one he wore that night in Scotland—on the carpet between them. It brought about images of a woman picking it up and placing it gently on Alfred’s armchair, kissing him goodnight, and waiting for him in bed, entitled to share his life in a way Edward would never be allowed. In fact, Edward bent down to pick up the tie and folded it neatly in his own hands just to do something to chase away these torturous thoughts.

‘Edward?’ Alfred asked, surprisingly gently now that he’s fired away all his arguments.

Edward straightened up and searched for words.

‘My own future is one thing but don’t blame me for half-worrying about you, too. If I imagine what if our places were reversed… By God, Alfred, even the abstract idea of losing you to a loveless marriage is enough to undo me in the worst of ways, forgive me. If I married, what would stop you?’

Edward wouldn’t be able to bear it, nor speak out against it without enormous hypocrisy. That worried him more than his own marriage.

Alfred allowed him a moment, touched, but still too hot-headed to leave it at that. If they were having it out, let them have it out for once and for all.

‘Why not?’ he challenged Drummond. ‘Perhaps it would be easier.’

‘Please, Alfred, don’t.’

‘Not, perhaps, the wedding night.’

‘Please, I am already unmanned,’ Edward asked, sniffing and wiping fresh tears away from his cheeks.

‘But have there not been hundreds of kings and princes who suppressed their nature for the sake of saving a lineage or to avoid a war between nations? My family has always been blessed with numerous children, I shouldn’t have to try all that hard if I’m lucky.’

‘Please, Alfred, do not be vulgar, it doesn’t suit you.’

‘Why not? You have considered it. Don’t pretend you have not.’

‘I’m the one pretending?!’ Edward raised his voice, brandishing Alfred’s cravat at him as he argued. ‘I shall stop pretending when you stop pretending you don’t love me. You do, you love me too, Alfred, I know you do. Why can’t you admit it? Take pity on me and let me hear it, just once, whatever happens henceforth.’

Alfred wanted to, he so wanted to. ‘What good would it do?’ he said to Edward this time, rather than to himself in his moments of violent self-chastisement. ‘Really, I’m asking, genuinely, what good would it do? What would it change?’

‘Only my whole world.’

Alfred wanted to beg for Edward to stop hurting him. How did he get himself in this mess? He swore never to get so entangled in a man that he would be back in this state, wanting to claw at the wallpaper, to tear down walls, so as to put an end to this misery without a name that had the audacity to torment him. He only meant to have a pleasant night with Edward, his love, without complications, and yet here they were in his abandoned house too big for his kind of life, just like the too-big expectations on him, arguing against his love, arguing against his instinct and wants. Why did it have to be so complicated?

‘Look, it is all very simple to me,’ Edward said clearly, on the contrary. ‘Either I marry and lose you or I break off my engagement and keep your love. The choice is very simple to me.’

‘And if you break it off and I change my mind?’ Alfred tested him in turn. ‘Have you never considered that I might have a lot to lose, too? That I might not want this after all? Were that to happen, you might just lose everything. For what?’

‘If you’d like to call our love an indiscretion again, you’ve another thing coming, Lord Alfred Paget. I may not possess your extensive experience with amorous complications but I do know that we have is no mere, imprudent, youthful dalliance.’

‘You are not thinking clearly... You will lose everything. _Everything_.’

‘If I do it all right, I may not. I believe there is a way but I need your help. And even if… I’d rather that than stop seeing you.’

‘How do you expect to keep seeing me when you are excommunicated from London society altogether? And that’s just for leaving a bad mark on Lady Florence’s reputation—that’s not even speaking of the risk,’ Alfred gestured to the two of them.

‘I’d still rather that than marry under false pretences—and yes, all aspects of what that entails have occurred to me, your attempts at unbefitting vulgarity have nothing on me, who has been living with the prospect for years, oh, Alfred I have considered it far more than you ever have. I mean it, Alfred, I’d rather lose everything, my career, my family, my life, than lose you by getting married. I shall accept that event if it is due to my death or your refusal. But not for a marriage. Not that I would ask you to but you do not like to share, you have made it clear.’

‘What if I were?’ Alfred said despite himself. He really was at his wits end, he realised. Edward was not budging. Perhaps Alfred had to compromise?

‘What do you mean?’

‘What if I am alright with… carrying this on… after you marry?’

‘But you are not.’

‘But what if I can accept it after all? What if I preferred it to losing you from my life altogether when society parts us because of a scandal you’re about to bring upon yourself?’

‘Alfred…’

‘After all, I am hardly an alternative spouse. The most I can hope for is to be kept as a lover, whether you are married to a woman or not. Why not?’ he asked, wishing he wasn’t tearing up.

‘I would never ask it from you. Not your self-respect.’

‘I can imagine worse, such as you giving up on your life for the sake of…’ _not an indiscretion_ , ‘…an idea. I’m sorry, I wish it were not so but what you want is an impossible relationship.’

‘Why impossible?’

‘We’ve been through why.’

‘Those are but waves at sea, which we must ride so as not to sink and drown.’

‘God, Edward, I can’t let you do this!’

‘And again, I say, surely it is not for you to let me but up for me to decide.’

‘And if I refuse?’

‘I said that I shall accept only that, with as much dignity as possible, or my death.’

‘Shush, don’t say such things.’

‘The choice is yours. The truth is beyond your control, but the choice to let us both live true to it lies with you.’

‘Don’t make me do this.’

‘I would not jeopardise my career if I didn’t have a good reason. And, come, I will never be a beggar. But without _you_ , I’m… Alfred… my love…’

Edward sank to his knees at Alfred’s feet, not begging but not exactly not begging.

‘Please, Alfred… I love you… more than I can say…’ he said, kissing Alfred’s hands, a gesture so intimate that Alfred’s knees weakened and his heart, his heart! Such painful joys were unfair on humankind. ‘I love you. And I know you love me, too.’

‘Enough… Edward… Enough. Enough, enough, enough!’ Alfred repeated and stepped out of Edward’s hold.

Edward watched him with baited breath. For a second Alfred seemed to be walking away from Edward with a finality but he just began to pace around the room, left and right, looking upwards at times as if asking the heavens for answers, seemingly ready to kick more of the furniture around him one second then about to break down in crying the next—this he continued until at last his steps slowed down and took him to the tall window, where he stopped.

He stared distantly out the window, basking in the glow of the silver moonlight. Edward was right, the Palace could be seen clearly from here. In fact, if someone lit a candle in a window, he would even be able to make that out. How come he had never noticed it? Perhaps he should trust Edward’s vision better.

When he turned around, Edward was prepared to hear the worst.

‘Fine.’

Alfred spat the word out almost inaudibly. His voice was shaking but he also heard himself laugh.

‘Excuse me?’ Edward asked, standing up automatically.

‘Fine,’ Alfred repeated. Again, now he said it he knew with absolute certainty and clarity that this was what he wanted. Still, hearing himself say it nearly caused him to sway.

He stood straight and still, however, hands on hips, coming to terms with his decision and unafraid of looking Edward in the eyes.

‘Fine. Let’s do it,’ he said, every word measured and uttered with shaky defiance as if he was scared of his own words. ‘Let us give it a try. Ride the waves. Everything you said. I shall stand by you and help you break off this engagement, come what may—and quickly, I will tell you why later. I shall call on Papa and acquaint you so we can use his solicitor’s experience. I shall vouch for you myself also when, inevitably, the storm hits and you shall need your character defended. I will help you get away if need be, I shall arrange escape routes, a private boat of some sort, and an estate in France that if we are lucky we won’t need and I shall help you get back into work after the storm has subsided.’

‘Alfred…’ Edward whispered, hardly believing his ears.

‘And Edward,’ Alfred continued in a strange, gentle tone without a trace of artifice or anger, ‘I will not take another lover or marry as long as I have your love and you mine and I shall expect the same from you. I shall support you in all ways for as long as you let me, for as long as I can breathe. I will do it all. I will take the risk. I will love and support you with every fibre of my being, body, heart, and soul, like I already do, and in turn I only ask for your love. Let’s do this, then. And let’s make it worth it.’

Edward’s legs were taking him towards his love without thinking.

‘Oh, Alfred…’

‘Let’s do it all. Let’s find a way. To be. To be together. Let’s do it.’

Edward had nearly reached Alfred...

‘ _But_ ,’ Alfred stopped him in his tracks just a couple of feet away, ‘Only if you promise me, if you _promise_ me you will not abandon me halfway. Promise me that you won’t get cold feet when you get too scared when you have to give up more than you thought. Whatever they throw at us, I will bear it with you. But promise me you will not change your mind.’

Edward crossed the rest of the distance in one step and swept Alfred up in his arms in response. The way he kissed him could have shattered the very earth beneath their feet.

‘No, wait, no,’ Alfred insisted, pushing Edward gently away despite himself. ‘I need to hear it. You need to promise me,’ he demanded, shaking Edward by the lapels.

‘Alfred... Of course I promise. This is everything I want. I promise. Have faith. I promise, if we cannot manage to be together, it will not be because we gave up.’

Alfred laughed painfully through tears welling in his eyes. ‘It will be because of something else,’ he predicted pessimistically.

‘No. I will not let them. We ride the waves. Together. We belong together.’

Alfred’s face was brightening up. ‘Do you truly understand what this means, Edward?’ he asked Edward still. ‘What you need to do?’

‘Of course. I will do whatever it takes.’

‘Yes, but sometimes this may mean _not_ doing something. It may mean staying put and staying silent and ignoring me, it may mean months spent apart with no news. It means keeping your faith in me even when I do everything I can to appear as if I do not care for you. Are you really prepared to accept that and do as necessary?’

Edward considered that. He had even more confidence in this seeing as Alfred seemed to have it all thought out despite his reluctance beforehand. Of course, always ten tricks up his sleeves.

‘I am. For you, of course I am. Alfred, I love you.’

‘I love you, too.’

Their lips met again and wild horses wouldn’t have torn them apart now. _Bring them on!,_ their hearts sang. _Bring on the whole world, they have nothing on us._

Alfred, for the first time in forever, for the first time ever, gave himself over completely to his feelings. His destiny. His love.

There was no overthinking anymore.

They kissed like never before, not even in the throes of pleasure in the Highlands. Before long, they stepped blindly into bedroom until their knees hit the chaise by the foot of the bed. Edward’s shirt landed on it, and Edward, and on him Alfred, kissing a sinful path down his body until Edward felt his lips.

Anyone would have taken it sprawled proudly over the chaise, would have laid back and enjoyed their due service. But Edward, he was hiding his face in his hands—in embarrassment? Perhaps. He was hiding like one hides when an embarrassing memory from their childhood is brought up or when overpraised in front of others or when something is too horrid to face. But he made no move to stop Alfred, therefore it can’t have been the latter. He was hiding then perhaps with the shying away of someone who literally cannot face something so good. But then, a thing too good is sometimes harder to bear than too much pain.

Edward never told Alfred to stop, even if he felt he ought to, but Alfred was more than keen, and although it felt all too greedy all too soon, he kept going until he quenched his thirst for tasting Edward and beyond, selfishly savouring every drop for himself.

Edward was shaking his head behind his palms as if in disbelief of what Alfred had done and how good it felt.

Alfred asked and eased him up on the bed without a break to catch his breath. They did not bother to take off the protective, white sheet over what was a bed fully made and left like that weeks and weeks ago. How lucky, and a soothing reminder that not a soul would bother them here.

Jealous of the moonlight, Edward wanted to bare and kiss every inch of Alfred’s skin, wrestling between the desire to be as meticulous as possible and the urgency to cover all surfaces. He tried what Alfred had tried on him—dispersing the last of his doubts that it was a submissive and undignified role. On the contrary, he enjoyed having such control over Alfred’s pleasure, learning how to make him squirm and gasp and moan with pleasure with a flick of the tongue.

‘Enough, enough, enough,’ Alfred spoiled his fun, prying him off himself.

‘Am I doing it wrong?’ Edward asked in panic.

‘Au contraire… Edward…’ Alfred could barely speak, only in a hot, breathy staccato of words. ‘I want to… you… make love to me.’

Edward flushed redder than ever as Alfred guided his hands to places suggestively.

 _Good Lord_ , Edward gulped. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

Alfred couldn’t hold back a laugh at the gallantry, even now. ‘You won’t.’

Edward went studiously along with Alfred’s guidance and let him take control when needed until Alfred’s hunger defeated his patience and they were connected. Slowly, Edward waited until Alfred started to move, and their bodies were working for and against each other as one in the silver moonlight on the pure white sheet in the dark, grinding, touching, picking up pace, their throaty gasps and moans becoming more and more erratic...

‘Are you asleep?’ Alfred whispered into the loose curls on the top of Edward’s head.

‘Yes,’ came Edward’s drowsy reply. His voice was muffled as his face was resting comfortably against Alfred’s chest still glistening with sweat.

‘Such a shame,’ Alfred lamented lazily. ‘I was going to tell you how much I love you.’

Edward shifted as if in an attempt at a full-body hug but they were already so tightly entangled that had he squeezed Alfred any more he would have suffocated him.

His stomach rumbled softly.

‘Hmm. We forwent dinner.’ Alfred remarked. ‘I’m afraid there’s next to no chance of finding anything here other than wines in the cellar.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re hungry.’

‘I’m not leaving this bed for the world.’

Alfred gave a little breathy giggle.

They lay there for a good while more.

‘Wonder if there’s running water,’ Alfred mused aloud.

‘Hmm.’

‘Probably.’

‘Hmm.’

Edward suddenly raised his head. ‘It makes no sense,’ he declared.

‘But yes, it does, I keep this house well-maintained even if I do not reside here often.’

‘No, I mean, the law. Why should this be illegal? Us?’

‘Oh, but don’t worry about that now, my dearest.’

‘I don’t worry I just think it nonsensical because it really is just that I love you and you love me and it is natural and we harm no one and at the end of the day all it is is just… some awful good fun.’

Alfred cracked up after a moment’s delay. Edward was always so dramatic, except on the rare occasion his youthful, playful side showed, such as when he suggested jumping into the lake in France, or when they were reeling in Scotland, and, well, now. His usually collected and clear speech was now slurred as if he was drunk. Drunk on love.

Alfred suggested they sleep and indeed they never had such a restful night.

If every morning found them so blissfully happy, they would face any obstacle without hesitation.


	8. Our Best Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Edward are on cloud nine even if they have a mountainous task ahead and storms brewing. Edward is late again for their Ciro's date but this time he has a banging excuse...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Sorry.)

No one could have said about Edward Drummond that he was a layabout but it was well past people’s usual breakfast time and he way still _lying about_ in Lord Alfred’s bed.

‘Just where do you think you’re going?’ Alfred asked mock-sternly when Edward escaped his newest attempt at yet another round of passion when they had only just finished the previous one.

Edward didn’t go far, however. He returned to take care of the remains of their morning activities lest they left any traces on the bed for a housemaid to find later.

‘Is that _my_ handkerchief?’ Alfred asked. Edward’s face said it all. ‘Y-you kept it? I thought I’d lost it.’

Edward recounted the story of how he found it on a walk the morning after in Scotland.

‘Was that wrong? Do you mind it?’ he asked upon a strange look in Alfred’s eyes.

‘I love you so much,’ said Alfred simply and kissed Edward. He couldn’t get enough of him.

Their newfound, insatiable passion almost lead to more again but Edward had some restrain and behaved this time.

‘No, no, I must begin my day,’ he said sitting on the edge of the bed at a safe distance from his gorgeous Alfred, who reached for him to drag him back. ‘I have already missed so much! In fact, I should have met Sir Robert for a ride in the park half an hour ago.’

‘So should I the Prince. You don’t see me abandoning you, all alone, in this big, warm bed…’

Alfred lay back and remained lounging languidly between the sheets. Tempting, but Edward rolled his eyes affectionately.

‘You are hardly to be pitied, my love. You’ve this palace for yourself!’

Alfred gave up trying to seduce Edward and sat up in bed. ‘Very well. Lunch with me?’

‘I wish but I doubt I’ll be able to take a lunch break today.’

‘One must eat.’

‘One must. Politicians will have to make do with a sandwich if we’re lucky. The vote is bound to happen today.’

‘Is it?’

‘I’d be surprised if it didn’t. All sides have said everything they wanted. More.’

‘That means Papa, too, will be in all day,’ Alfred pondered aloud while Edward put on his undergarments and shirt. ‘But the sooner I can introduce you the better. I was going to tell you last night: I have it on good authority from Miss Coke that Florence means to set a date before the week is over. We mustn’t waste time.’

When he resurfaced from the neck of his shirt, Edward seemed conflicted. ‘But… this is _the_ vote, Alfred. We’ve been working for so long. I can’t believe her, see, this is so unreasonable! Sorry, I shouldn’t…’

‘No harm. But let me go to the House around two. I’ll send Papa a note.’

‘I don’t know… Really, Alfred, let’s make it dinner, rather. I feel such a delicate subject may be easier to bring up that way. He is our best shot. Best not waste this chance just because of hastiness.’

Alfred hesitated but agreed at last anyway. ‘Alright. Perhaps what happens shall not be decided by the next few hours yet. Ciro’s again? It would be a shame if you never tasted the oysters there.’

‘Sounds good to me.’

‘I do hope you shan’t storm out this time.’

‘If Lord Anglesey can behave.’

‘Then I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed!’

Edward laughed and found his trousers quite on the far end of the room. ‘I would never leave you. Only to come here,’ he suggested bashfully.

‘We could…’

‘Could we?’

‘I’ll find a way to shake off Papa.’

Edward smiled wide, knowing this would be reason enough to distract him all day.

‘Can’t wait,’ he said, dashed back to kiss Alfred, and dressed himself properly at last.

Alfred followed suit with less urgency. He caught himself staring rather than dressing. There was something about this moment that touched him unexpectedly. It was something about watching Edward get out of his bed and get dressed, asking Alfred where he could find a comb and sorting himself out in Alfred’s vanity that had been resting under a sheet like most things in the room, getting himself a glass of water from the _en suite_ bathroom, something about sharing these small things that hit him just as powerfully as the night’s passionate lovemaking.

He was sure he had made the right choice. It would not be the easier one but undoubtedly the right one. He wanted to share his comb, his bed, his life with Edward. He wanted to share everything with him.

‘So Ciro’s at eight?’ Alfred asked Edward before he reluctantly left. Though Alfred was almost fully dressed now, Edward had known him in every way and saw him for his true self and he didn’t want to spend a minute without him again. But the debate was awaiting.

‘Eight? You are an optimist!’

‘Then how about I take my carriage to the House? I’ll pick you two up.’

‘If you like. I shall be sure to send you a note if the debate runs late.’

‘Do. And don’t look so happy when you walk down the street. People will talk.’

‘Then I shall tell them I am so chuffed because I am in love with Lord Alfred Paget and he makes me very happy.’

Alfred nearly pulled a face.

‘Alfred. It was a joke.’

‘Away with you now…’

‘Handkerchief, pocket-watch, tinderbox,’ Edward muttered to himself, patting various pockets on his clothing. ‘Right. All here. See you tonight,’ he finally said, smiled giddily at Alfred, and made himself actually walk out at last and leave as he was supposed to.

Alfred watched him skip down the carpeted, marble stairs from the doorway. As soon as Edward disappeared downstairs, a strange fear gripped him and he was compelled to run right down the stairs after him. Just before Edward had opened the front door, he stopped upon the sound of his name from the stairs.

‘Edward!’

‘Alfred?’

Alfred had nothing to say, really, so he just stood awkwardly, searching for something to justify his moves. Catching the warmth in his love’s eyes even from afar, he relaxed and willed himself to trust the day.

‘I love you.’

Edward’s heart swelled. ‘I love you, too,’ he replied in his warm, reassuring voice that sparked joy in Alfred’s heart every single time, and left to begin what was promising to be an eventful day at the Parliament.

*

‘Ouch!'

The Duchess of Buccleuch tutted at her great-niece’s clumsiness. The girl had been careless and stung herself with her needle again.

‘That is what happens when you have your head in the clouds all the time.’

‘My head is resting quite stably on my neck, Aunt,’ the girl talked back between sucking blood off her injured fingertip, surprising herself more than her tyrannical relation.

‘Why don’t you practice the piano instead?’

‘There is not enough light over there at this time of day.’

‘You do not need light if you have memorised the piece well enough.’

‘I don’t feel like it.’

‘Nevertheless, I insist. It might be a more suitable occupation for you at present. I daresay the instrument cannot sting you, even though you are rather stingy yourself!’

Still no apology or acknowledgement of her insolence came from Wilhelmina. So the Duchess pressed on testily.

‘I noticed you have been spending quite a lot of time with Lord Alfred.’

‘We always spend a lot of time with him, Aunt,’ she deflected.

‘But you especially, and recently even more than usual.’

‘What is so wrong about that? Lord Alfred is a dear friend.’

‘Precisely. A friend.’

‘Aunt, I am rather preoccupied by Florence’s letter today asking my advice on her wedding plans. What is your point? Just tell me, please.’

The Duchess was surprised at her timid, little niece taking the reins in a conversation once in her life. She had been pestering her to grow out of her naiveté and foolishness but now she did the Duchess was not sure she liked it. Ladies who knew their own mind, especially if it was a new development, were difficult to control.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I see you know all about weddings. Good. I want you to think about marrying Lord Alfred.’

‘Aunt!?’

‘You heard me.’

‘But Lord Alfred is...’ Wilhelmina could not quite find the words, nor did she feel her place to suggest anything that might be embarrassing for him. ‘…my friend. I do not think of him as a suitor!’

‘Why, do you think of anyone else as one at present?’ the Duchess retorted. Wilhelmina had no comeback. ‘You must marry someone.’

‘But I do not love him, nor does he me I daresay!’

‘Love! Fiddlesticks.’

‘Why yes, dear Aunt, love! Do you want me to end up in a loveless marriage, unhappy, pining for others like Harriet?’

‘You spend far too much time with your lady friends!’

‘She needs her friends around her, especially now! How sad to be a widow…’

‘Better a widow than an old maid.’

Wilhelmina put down her embroidery work and stood up to leave.

‘Lord Alfred is a distinct possibility!’ the Duchess insisted before she stormed out like the foolish girl she was. ‘Don’t you walk out on me, Wilhelmina!’

The young lady stopped, not having it in herself to storm out without a word after all.

‘Will you excuse me, Aunt? I have to write to Florence.’

‘What have you to write to her about? What do you know about weddings she does not? Leave her be. She is about to be quite happy with Mr Drummond. And so could you be with Lord Alfred. If you truly care about your friends, you will stop pestering them while they tend to their lives, which no doubt involve plenty more crucial elements than your silly letters, and start thinking about your own prospects.’

Wilhelmina felt more humiliated even than when she first met Lord Alfred when she nearly fell over curtseying in that old fashioned way her great-aunt had taught her. There were a great many outdated ideas she tried to impose upon her young, but no longer quite so impressionable, niece.

‘If you truly cared about my friends, you would not force me to spoil the only true friendship I have.’

Wilhelmina had no more qualms about storming out of the salon.

She ran right into just the man on her mind.

*

Edward waded through the crowd and the benches without dropping his trusty folder.

‘Where the hell were you this morning, Drummond?’

‘Um…’

‘Forgot the time calling on your fiancée, eh? You young folk… Ah, anyway,’ Sir Robert didn’t have time to scold his Private Secretary, or force him into a lie that he had been with Florence, as it was time to take their seats and there commenced what was to be the final and decisive round of debates on the question of the Corn Laws.

*

‘Miss Coke!’ Lord Alfred exclaimed in surprise. He had nearly ran right into the poor girl in his haste down the corridor. And, well, he was terribly absent-minded in his good mood after such a wondrous night with Edward. In fact, he could still feel traces of his touch everywhere. He should have felt guilty but it was quite the opposite, heavenly.

However, as he squinted through the pink cloud surrounding him, he could see that she was upset and crying!

‘Tut, tut, but Miss Coke, you are not well!’

‘I am fine, thank you,’ she said, curtseyed curtly, and went to leave the vicinity of the salon before her aunt called for a priest.

Lord Alfred? As her husband?! Well, it would be foolish to say there had not been a time when she held him in such high regard as Prince Ernst but ever since she had seen… well, she saw what she saw, and knew Lord Alfred had given his heart to someone else, someone who was an equally respectable person and no doubt far from evil. The rest was not her affair.

‘But Miss Coke?’ Alfred insisted, worried he had been the cause of her distress.

She turned around, wiping tears off her rosy cheeks unceremoniously, still angry at her aunt. She had to relay a message to him, though, preferably before it was too late.

‘You should know that Florence intends to invite Mr Drummond for breakfast tomorrow morning at the Lothian House in Belgravia for the express purpose of setting a date for their wedding, sometime next month. If he leaves without agreeing to a day, she will write to the Times regardless, as well as all their family.’

Alfred’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Miss Coke, why are you telling me…?’

‘You didn’t hear it from me.’

That was the last of her message before she turned on her heels and fled upstairs to be allowed to weep and rage and do as she pleased in her room.

Lord Alfred wanted to believe she only warned him—because it was delivered as a warning—because she knew the match between Lady Florence and Drummond was not based on love and Lord Alfred was his good friend.

But something told him he needed to stop being naïve and perhaps try to seek her out in private (as if that would ever be allowed!) as soon as he could.

He sensed he was being watched. Sure enough, he caught the beady, calculating eyes of the Duchess of Buccleuch through the glass of the salon doors. What was going on? He was afraid to find out.

Alas, this had to wait since he had an urgent task: writing a letter to his Papa inviting him to dine with him and Drummond. Alfred awkwardly slipped away before the Duchess murdered him with her looks alone. If what Miss Coke said was true, they truly had no time to waste.

*

‘Ayes: 327, Nos: 229. The Ayes have it.’

The House of Commons broke out in relieved celebration from the majority and terrible fuming from the minority. As for Drummond, he couldn’t shake Sir Robert’s hand vigorously enough. They won.

And, hurrah! He was finally able to get off work and see Alfred! He was nearly an hour late now! He would have to apologise profusely or make up for his failing in some other form later that night…

It was bittersweet, walking the Prime Minister out of the building this evening. Although it was an historic day of victory, it would mean his resignation. For the party’s sake. Sir Robert, with his iron clad principles and honour, had to bow to that fact and remove himself if he didn’t want to cause further infighting.

‘Are you sure I can’t take you home?’ Sir Robert asked before he got into the carriage waiting for him.

‘Thank you, sir, but…’ Edward replied, spotting Alfred above the lively crowd in the street. He was waiting in his own open carriage not far away, already joined by Lord Anglesey. Alfred was smiling so handsomely but at the same time checking his pocket-watch overdramatically—Edward could hardly contain a laugh. ‘…I have an engagement,’ he said to Sir Robert as politely as he could.

‘Thank you for stopping me making a fool of myself over Bentinck,’ was the PM’s response and he offered his hand to Drummond, this time in gratitude. They achieved so much together but their days of cooperation were coming to an end.

A woman’s scream cut through the cheering.

‘SIR ROBERT PEEL! PREPARED TO MEET YOUR MAKER!’ a man was shouting.

Drummond turned to see the crowd disperse in panic—he saw a handgun—and he pushed and flung himself in front of Sir Robert without thinking.

He saw it before he felt it. A crimson red patch was getting bigger and bigger right between his ribs.

When he felt it after a moment’s delay, he registered a sharp stinging, nothing more. But when he met Sir Robert’s eyes he realised he ought to be concerned. It was just like when a child scrapes their knee and feels no pain until their mother starts screaming and only informed by that does their own pain come upon them. He ought to feel it…

And once he did, he stumbled sideways.

Sir Robert held him up. He could stand, he could stand, don’t worry, sir, he could stand! But he was laid down on the pavement in spite of his wishes. Sir Robert was calling out his name and for God and for a doctor and Edward wanted to reassure him he was alright. Why wasn’t anybody listening?

Oh, because he wasn’t speaking. He feared the wetness in his mouth was blood. It wasn’t, but he was unable to find his voice from shock. He was made voiceless by the shot.

He had been shot. He had been shot! The crowd echoed Drummond’s own thoughts. How could this be? He had actually been shot.

Clinking. Clinking. It was like wood on stone, a familiar kind of voice but he couldn’t quite place it. And everyone was shouting so loudly, he wished the noise would fade.

‘GIVE WAY! LET ME THROUGH!’

‘Alfred,’ he croaked, thankful that still no blood came out.

His love, he was there, he was calling his name—it was hard to tell from the ringing in Edward’s ear. Lord Anglesey was close, too—why? Surely his leg made it hard to rush back here from the carriage. He should wait in the carriage, go to dinner and he’ll join them later.

‘Shh. Don’t speak,’ Alfred said above him.

‘I c-can, I can stand.’

Why wasn’t anybody listening to Drummond? He was alright, they simply needed to let him walk back home and clean himself up. His head wasn’t even muddled anymore, the noises of the crowd seemed to fade. Alfred was here. He would be fine.

The ringing in his ear was getting louder, his vision seemed as if ants were crawling in front of him…

‘Drummond! Drummond! Edward! Stay with us! Edward!’ Alfred screamed in panic, holding up Edward’s head—whose idea was it to lay him on the cobblestones? He should have been taken inside!

The whole world had turned upside down in a flash. One second, he was exchanging covert smiles with Edward over the heads of the crowd who were none the wiser about their love, the next he was watching his love lose consciousness.

‘Papa?!’

‘Keep him alert, son!’ Lord Anglesey shouted even as he was pushing Sir Robert out of the way. ‘Get off the boy, Sir, you are pushing all the blood out of him!’

‘Oh, God, Drummond! No!’ the Prime Minister, who was always so composed, was crying to no one in particular.

‘Someone, get him away from here!’ Lord Anglesey repeated authoritatively. He thought he’d left Waterloo behind but it was as if he was back on the battlefield. Thank God for him, Alfred thought.

Alfred spotted a police constable nearby, one who wasn’t restraining and carting away the offender, the assassin, whoever the hell he was that hurt his Edward.

‘HO! OFFICER!’

The policeman pried Sir Robert off Drummond’s body unceremoniously so as to allow Lord Anglesey, albeit with difficulty, to kneel down and act fast now.

‘Tell me what to do, Papa!’ Alfred asked, desperate to help. _Tell me what to do_ , he thought, _tell me how to turn back time if there is a way!_ He also blessed his own training and experience guarding the Queen since he was barely a man’s age. He was more scared than ever in his life but if he got instructions he was focused and did precisely as told. He could break down later. This was the time to save Edward while there was a chance.

‘The bleeding must be stopped—’

Alfred didn’t even wait for the end of the sentence, he took off his light, summer waistcoat and used his teeth to tear off pieces of absorbent cloth that were suitable. Lord Anglesey rolled the strips into a ball and pressed it firmly against the bloody wound on Edward’s torso.

‘What now?’ Alfred asked.

‘Hold it. Firmly, now,’ Alfred allowed his father to place his hand on the bundle of cloth and show him how much pressure to use. ‘We must have a look at his back.’

Together they rolled a groaning Edward on his side enough for Lord Anglesey to take a look.

‘Papa?!’

‘The bullet did not pierce through.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means it is still inside him, of course! By God, he must be taken to a clean place with clean water, clean sheets,’ he demanded of anyone who would listen. Since the constables were busy keeping the crowd at a safe distance, Alfred did not hesitate to speak:

‘He has a private address nearby. His sister’s.’

‘How long by carriage?’

‘Can’t be more than five or ten minutes. Sir Robert! SIR ROBERT!’ Alfred shouted his name as soon as he realised he did not actually know the exact address.

A policeman brought Sir Robert back outside, who gave the address, and they helped Alfred support Edward into the carriage and transport him as quickly as possible to his house. Edward lay across the bench, his head on Alfred’s thigh, cursing every bump in the road that made his wound ache with fresh vengeance.

By the time they were there, the bundle of cloths from Alfred’s waistcoat here soaked through and Edward was as pale as whitewash.

‘Is that Edward?!’ a woman shrieked in the house.

The men had no chance to take notice of her and took Edward all the way upstairs to what she said was his bedroom. He was even still insisting he could walk it.

They lay him on the bed in the room his sister said was his.

Alfred only had eyes for Edward. There was great chaos all around him—people arguing, telling the maid to send for a doctor, Miss Drummond bringing jugs of water, Sir Robert filling those in who could not have known what had happened—but Alfred was only watching Edward, who was still alive, fighting sleep.

Every time Edward was drifting off he felt a shiver run down his spine.

_“You asked me what went wrong._ What didn’t? _The men I have been with, they are all either dead, fled abroad, or married now.”_

_“’Have faith. I promise, if we cannot be together, it will not be because we gave up.’_

_‘It will be because of something else.”_

_“‘I shall accept only your refusal… or my death.’_

_“Alfred… Alfred… Alfred…”_

‘…LORD ALFRED! For God’s sake!’

Alfred woke from his horrid thoughts by the sister shouting at him from the other side of the bed. He needed to act.

Following Lord Anglesey’s lead and his instructions, Lord Alfred and Miss Drummond acted as nurses: they bared Drummond’s upper body to free the wound. Having run a wet cloth over his skin, they saw the actual hole was not tragically wide but there was no telling how deep it ran and what it had damaged on its way.

‘What do you propose we do?’ Miss Drummond asked the marquess.

‘Why, we must remove the bullet before it causes further damage!’

At this suggestion, Drummond, who had been wanting to give into sleep, became very much alert, and panicking! He was already in such pain! Sir Robert tried to intervene but thankfully the officer carted him out of the room on the pretext of it being too crowded in there and the police statement that he needed to make.

‘Are you sure, Papa? Should we not wait for the doctor?’ Alfred asked.

‘By the time he is here…’

‘What do we need, Lord Anglesey?’ Miss Drummond asked. ‘More water?’

‘Alcohol, rather. The stronger the better.’

‘Whisky?’ Alfred suggested.

‘For drinking, if the lad prefers it. He’s going to need it!’

‘Alfred, don’t let him, I’m fine! Charlotte!’ Edward protested but his sister held him down.

‘For the wounds, vodka, anything, the higher proof the better,’ Lord Anglesey continued.

‘We’ve got grappa. Homebrew from a friend, it’s undrinkable,’ Miss Drummond said already running downstairs.

‘Perfect. WAIT, GET TONGS, TOO!’

‘Tongs?!’

‘Yes, sugar tongs. And scissors!’

She asked no further questions and did as told.

‘Alfred, you get a maid.’

‘She’s left to fetch a doctor.’

‘Get another one, the butler, then!’

‘There’s no one else here.’

‘Bloody hell!? Look in that drawer for any gauze, sheets, anything to apply on the wound once I’m done. We’ll need to wrap him right up as soon as I get it out.’

‘But the wound!’

‘I’ll hold it, just do as told!’

Alfred handed over to his father the duty of keeping pressure on Edward’s wound while he searched the room. He found pillow cases and began tearing them up at once using a pen knife. Miss Drummond returned with everything the marquess asked for and more.

‘Drink up, man,’ Lord Anglesey told Drummond, handing him a full bottle of Scotch.

Edward realised he had no say in what was to happen, accepted the bottle, and gulped down as much of it as he could, sending his last prayers to the heavens.

Lord Anglesey had Miss Drummond soak some fabric in alcohol and lay them on the washstand. The Waterloo hero then held the bottle over the wound and tipped it.

Edward nearly fainted just from the stinging when alcohol met his flesh, hissing and crying out helplessly. Alfred helped him drink more Whisky to numb his senses and he chugged half the Scotch now he knew just how bad this ordeal would be. He was surprised he hadn’t suffered the indignity of wetting the bed like a child! He could not imagine what it must have been like for the marquess to have a leg amputated with nothing to lessen the pain!

Once Lord Anglesey was satisfied, he gave Edward just a minute’s break while he got the pair of tongs, washed them in water and alcohol and asked for fire. Without hesitation, Alfred fished out Drummond’s tinderbox from where he knew he kept it in the breast pocket of his now blood-soaked coat. Anglesey held the tongs in the flame for a minute and observed the wound.

Edward didn’t dare look. He wished he HAD fainted by now, either from the loss of blood or the shock!

Upon the marquess’ advice, they stuffed a bundle of fabric in Edward’s mouth to bite on.

He felt it right away.

‘I see it. You are lucky, Mr Drummond, it’s right near the surface. I promise it won’t take long, my chap, you are doing excellently.’

‘Shh, Edward, not long now,’ Alfred chimed in. Edward’s hand shot to his and gripped it with such strength Alfred feared for his own bones. Alas, one could not blame a man for his reaction when someone was fishing a bullet out of his insides.

Edward spat out the linen. ‘Alfred… If this is it…’ he croaked desperately to Alfred between bouts of blinding pain.

‘Shh. I know,’ Alfred replied and pressed his forehead against Edward’s as he was screaming because Lord Anglesey went in there for the final push.

‘Aha! There’s the little bugger!’ the marquess exclaimed.

Edward saw him holding up the tiny metal ball between the tongs in triumph.

And that was when the world went black.


	9. Alfred's Vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred stays by Edward's bedside on the longest night of his life, while memories haunt his vigil.
> 
> Will Edward wake up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever wanted to read about your fave get his heart broken about twenty times in a row in the course of just one chapter? Well, today is your lucky day! It physically hurt to write this sometimes. To disperse any reading confusion: the following scenes jump back and forth between Edward's room while he's resting after being shot and Alfred's history with past lovers, one scene in the present, one in the past. Feel free to read consecutively, or read every one and then every other scene, whichever rocks your boat. I just find that overexplanations break the spell.  
> Have fun, don't hurt me.

‘Edward, Edward?!’ Alfred was shaking and slapping him lightly.

Lord Anglesey acted fast. He splashed a generous amount of grappa on the wound, rinsed it off with water, and got down to bandaging him right up with Miss Drummond’s help while Alfred was trying to revive him.

But Edward was well and truly unconscious.

‘Leave him be, son,’ Lord Anglesey advised once he was done and washing blood off his hands at the washstand.

‘But is he _d-dying_?!’

Alfred felt like a brute for uttering the word in front of a lady but he looked at Miss Drummond for support on this. She felt caught out because she looking at the way Alfred was still so close by Edward’s side, hand in hand.

He let go of Edward’s hand suspiciously quickly. She pretended not to notice and started busying herself with the bedsheets in embarrassment.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘I think he’s just fainted. He never could stand the sight of injuries.’

‘There you go, son,’ Lord Anglesey said. ‘It’s best he rests it out.’

Alfred straightened up and made himself useful by tidying up with the others. Shortly, the door opened without anyone knocking.

‘The doctor, Miss, my lords.’

‘At last!’

The maid let in the doctor, who seemed to have been dragged away from his dinner and was therefore quite groggy. In fact, he was still wearing a napkin tucked in his collar.

‘I don’t believe we’ve met, doctor,’ Lord Anglesey turned to him with suspicion. He was standing at a polite distance from the man but he got a whiff of wine.

‘My name is Sir Frederick Bromley, I’ve come to see the pach—the pet—the patient! That him?’

Sir Frederick crossed the room swiftly, knocking the jug off the washstand with a swing of his medical bag, which he then unceremoniously placed on Edward’s legs.

‘Let’s see, then… oh, but he’s been treated! Am I in the right house?’

‘We and Lord Anglesey extracted the bullet that injured him, disinfected the wound, washed him, and bandaged him up,’ Miss Drummond answered.

‘Oh but?! What?! A surgery has been performed in here?! Why did you not wait for me?’

‘He was bleeding profusely,’ Lord Alfred replied, not liking this at all.

‘Well, he must! It’s the body’s way of saying that is good for him! In fact, we must let his blood!’

‘Excuse me?!’

‘A bullet hole! Well, his blood pressure will be the end of him and he must develop clean blood to avoid infection! Quick, I’ll need a bowl! Maid! Now, where’s my…?’ the doctor started rummaging in his bag. ‘Aha!’ he exclaimed, holding up a small knife.

‘No!’ Miss Drummond declared at once, together with Alfred, who jumped to stand between the doctor and Edward to protect him with his own body.

‘You will do no such thing, sir!’ Lord Anglesey thundered. ‘The boy has lost enough blood, the last thing he needs is some medieval quackery to make it worse!’

‘I am the doctor!!!’ the doctor said and dropped his knife on the floor.

‘Where did you find this man, Cecilia?’ Miss Drummond asked the maid.

‘I’m sorry, Ch—Miss. It’s nearly ten,’ the maid replied defensively. ‘All the other physicians I could find were in an even worse state than him!’

‘Right,’ Miss Drummond thought fast. ‘Well, Sir Frederick, turns out we do not require your assistance after all. As you can see, my brother is resting well.’

‘But I’m the doctor! Oh, is that Scotch over there?’ Sir Frederick still insisted even as he was being escorted out of the room, and further from the bottle of whisky that caught his fancy. He was even swishing with his hand without noticing he wasn’t holding his knife anymore.

‘Come on downstairs, doctor, we’ll give you coffee…’

‘By God,’ Lord Anglesey remarked once the ladies removed the doctor. ‘Don’t they teach them in medical school how to hold their liquor when there’s a sudden call to arms?! We fought just fine at Waterloo with bellies full of wine. Hell, the academy prepared us for that before we even set foot in any battle!’

*

_Ten Years Earlier_

_“Alfred,_

_You made me very happy but I will say again: this is the end._

_Do not allow the sorrow of farewell to overshadow the time we enjoyed._

_You say it was too brief but neither of us can help it. We must part forever, I am not coming back. Let there be no more quarrels over this in our futures, which must be lived separately as of this moment. I have to accept that a new chapter of my life has begun, and so must you._

_And so it is with finality that I must insist you stop writing. This is the last of my letters._

_Farewell, Alfred. You may not believe me now but I truly wish you all the best._

_Your friend,_

_— M”_

‘Would you put that candle out, Paget?’

Alfred jumped in fright enough to hit is head against the headboard. He had closed the partitions but there was hardly any proper privacy in these damned dormitories at the academy—the boys softly snoring behind curtains on either side of him may have been unbothered but Warwick, whose bed was against the opposite wall of the room had a clear view and would not hesitate to report anyone disturbing his sleep.

Alfred folded up Michael’s letter, which he had read so many times these past few weeks that the paper was starting to thin and break at the creases, and blew out the solitary little candle on his nightstand. He tucked the letter under his pillow and tried to go back to sleep, to no avail.

Somewhere in Bretagne, Michael was resting well (much better than Alfred) in his own bed in his family’s new chateau. He was supposed to stay in England until the end of his studies. Alas, he never returned after Easter. His family were content for him to join them in France early and they were not coming back.

They spent some joyous times together during their two years at the academy. Michael had even been a frequent guest at Plas Newydd in the summers. He and Alfred would ride horses together, or go rowing; Michael was keen on drawing Alfred’s portrait almost every day! Alfred liked modelling for pictures but this was even excessive for him! He taught Michael the piano in turn, which he ended up being so good at that he began to compose his own pieces. He even wrote one for Alfred. This, he only confessed in private after a little family concert. Alfred asked why Michael wasn’t in the ballroom delighting his many sisters and cousins and ladies with his music and his dancing.

‘I don’t know, Alfred, why aren’t you?’

‘I asked you first.’

‘Me, I prefer to be with you. I wrote that piece for you.’

‘For me? Why?’

‘To tell you what I cannot with words.’

Alfred was so touched he had to take a chance and hug his friend. The hug became a kiss.

Alfred was scared he shouldn’t have but, turns out, he was right to do so. Michael wanted to achieve just that. The rest followed naturally, whenever they could steal some time together to disappear for a few hours safely. Neither of them really knew what they were supposed to do but they figured it out together.

You can never have a second first love again.

But now it seemed Michael wasn’t so attached anymore. Alfred was ashamed of his school reports from this term but he felt as if there was no point to anything anymore. It didn’t matter if he was the fastest at the obstacle course if he couldn’t celebrate it with Michael, no matter who played what prank on a fellow student if Michael wasn’t there to laugh with, no poem worth memorising if he wasn’t allowed to recite it to Michael anymore.

His words were clear. No more letters. No more meetings. No more Michael.

*

Miss Drummond and the maidservant, Cecilia, took each arm of the drunken doctor and dragged him downstairs whether he liked it or not.

‘Well! Coffee sounds marvellous,’ Lord Anglesey mused. ‘Alfred?’

‘I want to—Someone ought to stay with Edw—Drummond.’

Alfred’s father shot him a strange, inquisitive look. Alfred was a mess. His shirt was stained with blood, so were his arms up to the elbow, his hands were still shaking and he was paler than Drummond.

Lord Anglesey forgot not everyone had seen what he had seen. Perhaps it was right that a young lad without battle experience should have lost his nerves upon an accident such as this but he didn’t know Alfred as a delicate sort of man. He was very much cut out to be a courtier but he wasn’t weak. However, Drummond’s sorry fate seems to have unnerved him completely. They were truly very good friends…

Henry seemed to want to ask something but in the end, he threw away the blood-stained towel with which he had dried his hands.

‘Well, I’m going.’

‘Papa,’ Alfred remembered to stop him before he left. ‘Thank you. I wouldn’t have known what to do.’

‘Well, it’s lucky this damned doctor didn’t get there first! But don’t thank me now. We must wait and see if the lad gets better.’

Alfred was nodding but he felt quick tears threatening to unman him.

‘Nevertheless, Papa. Thank you.’

*

He was going to be late from breakfast! Where was it!? Michael’s letter was gone! Alfred had searched everywhere: he turned out his pillowcase, he pulled back his bed to see if it had fallen underneath it, or under the floor between the cracks. It had to be there somewhere! He was at his wits end!

He could not concentrate on his lessons at all and feigned illness to be allowed back to the dormitories before lunch to resume his search.

‘Looking for this?’ Warwick, the Head Boy, interrupted Alfred’s frantic search.

He was holding Michael’s letter in his hand. Alfred didn’t understand this at all. He had always got along well with everyone in his year, even Warwick, who was so ambitious and such a teacher’s pet everyone hated him behind his back.

‘I was, actually,’ Alfred replied matter-of-factly, too exhausted from weeks of unhappiness. ‘Why did you take it?’

‘I wanted to know why your candle keeps me up after curfew every night.’

‘Well, now you know. May I have it back, please?’

To his surprise, Warwick didn’t taunt him. He wasn’t a bully, he just enjoyed showing off his authority. Perhaps because he didn’t have an audience, or because Alfred really wasn’t looking his best, he handed the letter back to its owner.

He stayed close and looking at Alfred inquisitively, who didn’t think it fair at all. The letter did not confirm anything that couldn’t be explained away. Nevertheless, Warwick’s gaze was getting quite uncomfortable. Alfred wanted to step away from his bed but the other boy was in his way. When he stepped to the right, so did Warwick, and to the left, and again.

‘What?’ Alfred challenged in the end, frustrated with this whole foolishness.

‘No thank you?’

Alfred rolled his eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Happy?’

The next second, Warwick was kissing him. His lips were clumsy, unpractised, but determined.

When they parted Alfred looked at him in confusion. He thought he was in danger of being reported to the dean for something stupid like not making his bed properly after his frantic search or for skiving off classes when he wasn’t really sick. However, all that was happening was this.

They made a plan to meet in the abandoned east wing after curfew as Alfred was on night practice every Friday while Warwick had to patrol the corridors.

This, they carried on until nearly the end of term.

There was a sense of laxness in the air by that time. They were in their final year, they would begin their real lives outside of school within days and become their own persons, with their own positions in Society. Alfred was not going into the army like his brother George. He was staying in the field but a place at court was waiting for him already, at seventeen.

Many times, he wanted to ask what Warwick had in mind for his own future but he never seemed to want to stay after their brief and heated encounters in abandoned east wing class- and storage rooms.

On that mid-June night, the Head Boy’s hand was already on the doorknob before Alfred had even pulled up his trousers.

He didn’t mind, he had got used to it by that time. This arrangement did not mean they were now pals. They continued to ignore each other in the corridors as usual. Perhaps the Head Boy was even snootier and colder towards him when there were other boys or teachers around. Alfred hardly cared from his part, he was still thinking a lot about Michael. He didn’t need another complication of the heart, not when their positions would inevitably take them into different directions and this will have become an unmentionable indiscretion in vague memories of their unruly youth. Plus, Warwick was a terrible kisser—mostly, they just cut to the chase, to scratch an itch.

They’d got away with it until that night.

Alfred heard it mid-way through buttoning up his uniform and he froze with dread, listening with baited breath.

The headmaster was questioning Warwick relentlessly, right outside the door of this dusty old storage room—why had he been in there, why wasn’t he in the west wing where he was supposed to patrol, where some boys had snuck out to play a prank as per school tradition, how did he get the keys to this room, what was he up to, what was he doing, why was he in a state of obvious dishevelment, what had he done, was he alone, he wasn’t alone, was he?

‘I was, sir. I was alone.’

Warwick _lied_ to the Headmaster to protect Alfred? He had never shown any care for him before.

‘Is that so? We shall see.’

‘Sir?’

‘Hand over the key, Warwick.’

‘But sir…’

A hiss, the rusty clinking of metal against metal. The doorknob was turning.

Alfred jumped for it and landed in the shrubbery under the window before he was seen.

He ran back to his post where he was supposed to be “standing guard” at the stables on the school grounds. No one ever checked on him there, not on this side of the academy. They all knew he wasn’t going to be a fighting soldier oversees, he wasn’t a priority. Besides, if the last years were playing their school leaving prank, everyone would be there for that ruckus.

But he finished his night watch with his heart beating violently to the last. On his walk back, he saw the candles were lit in the Headmaster’s study. What was happening to Warwick in the building? And why wasn’t he in his bed in the morning?

*

Alfred busied himself with tidying up in Drummond’s room so as to do something. Lord Anglesey had left to join Sir Robert and the others for coffee, or something stronger. The constable was still downstairs, too. He had to give a statement.

Alfred stopped cleaning before long.

After all the shouting and panic and gore, the silence was both eerie and tranquil.

He took in his surroundings only now that he was alone. So this was Edward’s room. Alfred didn’t know what he had imagined but now that he observed it, he was filled with a sense of warmth. The room was very like Edward in every corner. The wallpaper was of the same burgundy colour he preferred to wear and which suited his colouring so well. There were books and bookshelves everywhere one turned. He had a large writing desk facing the window with neatly organised letters, ink pellets, and his pens organised by size and colour. There were no heavy paintings in here. All art was just drawings and watercolours: sketches, of people, of Edward, a country house, a few dogs. Most of them were unfinished, as if they had been stolen from a private sketchbook.

By instinct, Alfred turned to Edward to ask about these pictures. But of course, he realised with a fresh sting of pain, Edward wasn’t in a state to answer at present.

*

It had been five days since the Headmaster caught him out but there was still no sign of Warwick. No one said anything about him. They had already sat their exams but even so, the absence of the Head Boy raised questions among all the boys. All sorts of theories began circulating, each more incredible than the other.

It was rather strange. It was all hushed up. When Alfred gathered the courage and the acting talent to seemingly nonchalantly ask his favourite teacher whether Warwick had been sent down, even Mr Forster weaselled out of a straight answer.

He was returning the last of his borrowed books when he overheard it from two first years in the library.

‘Warwick’s dead?! How do you know?’ one student was whispering to his friend behind a bookshelf.

‘My uncle is their family doctor. He was called to his bedside.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘I’m not lying! The Headmaster will announce a memorial of sorts at dinner tonight.’

‘I don’t get it, what happened?’

‘Well, he was all bruised and battered. He lingered for a day but then he… They say he did it to himself but my uncle doesn’t believe a word of it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He examined him. The injuries he had were such you only get from a fight. My uncle reckons his father beat him.’

‘For being sent down?!’

‘Shhh! No, there was a reason he was sent down. A Head Boy like him? Two weeks before the end of term? The Prime Minister’s seat had his name written on it—things like this don’t happen to the likes of Warwick.’

‘But what did he do to get sent down?’

‘I don’t know, do I? The headmaster’s not my uncle, is he? I’m only telling you what I know. Something’s not right about it all but the old Earl W pressured my uncle to write it up as an accident in his records. They are renovating the grand staircase in their country house, they’ll say he fell down it and…’ the boy imitated the sound of a cracked neck.

Alfred dropped his books on the librarian’s desk and fled back to the courtyard without air in his lungs.

*

Alfred washed his hands of blood. Edward’s blood. It was still all over his own shirt, too, dried already.

He rolled the washstand into its corner under a hanging mirror, in which he caught sight of himself. Someone weary that he barely recognised was staring back at him.

He approached the bed. Edward was so perfect, so handsome and youthful, even in his uneasy sleep. Perhaps Alfred’s father was right, it was best to let him rest. He had gone through a terrible ordeal.

The ordeal for Alfred, however, was only just beginning. There was nothing left but to wait.

He undressed Edward and carefully tucked him into bed. He gathered the comforter off the top and folded it up with care; the maid would have to wash it. Luckily, the rest of the sheets and blankets did not get stained. Edward would be quite comfortable.

Alfred looked around the room now. Everything was tidy, everything in its right place. There was nothing else he could occupy himself with.

He sat on the bed, took Edward’s hand in his, the hand that touched him with such love just the night before, and let himself cry at last.

She knocked before entering, leaving just enough time for him to let go of Edward’s hand and pull himself together, but anyone could tell he had been crying.

‘How is he?’ Edward’s sister asked.

‘The same.’

Her presence somehow reminded him he may be intruding. He had no idea she felt the same.

‘So… you are the famous Lord Alfred,’ Miss Drummond stated awkwardly.

‘Famous?’

‘Edward’s spoken of you a lot.’

‘Good things, I hope?’

She frowned and seemed to bite back a smile at the same time. What could that mean?

‘Your father says they should like to leave. Shall I tell them you would rather stay?’

‘M-May I?’

‘I’ve already had Cecilia prepare a room for you. Unless… You are welcome to stay in here.’

Alfred nodded gratefully. ‘Please do tell Papa they can take my carriage.’

‘I will. Would you like a clean shirt? Some supper?’

‘Just a shirt if it’s not too much bother.’

Miss Drummond bit back a snort. ‘You really are as courteous and handsome as he said. I’ll be back.’

*

‘Les hommes anglais, j’avais aucune idée q’ils étaient si beaux!’

Alfred turned around on his heels. The Russian guest realised at once that the remark that should have remained a secret between him and his friend was understood by this passing gentleman with the most gorgeous shade of golden hair.

It had been just two dances since Alfred said the same thing about the Russians to the Duchess of Sutherland. So handsome!

He had been at the court for just a few months, advancing quickly from the Horse Guards to what felt like Her Majesty’s right-hand gentleman to have around. He was grateful for the ladies of the bedchamber, who helped him find his footing without embarrassing himself. He was used to grandeur but the royal palace had its own unique rules of etiquette. Thus far, his new career had been smooth sailing, if a tad boring.

Where were the men? The Horse Guards and the officers were nice enough but not very talkative or sociable. Alfred ranked above them all by virtue of his birth. Not to mention footmen: he liked to see a pretty face once in a while but they were servants. Alfred would never.

He found the company in the ballrooms much more to his taste but that meant playing The Game. He loved to dance! But he had to be careful not to encourage hopeful young ladies or their mothers watching from the sidelines. He loved the music! But he could hardly enjoy it without having to avert one crisis after the other. Whether it was boisterous chartists or the young Queen having had too much champagne, Alfred was the man for the job. And, finally, when some real men arrived in the form of the Russian delegation, alas, one could look but not touch.

So it was with shock and absolute delight that he caught the compliment from a member of the foreign entourage. It was that tall one with the auburn hair and freckles that gave his pale cheeks a handsome colour. His ears were prominent but it suited his gentle demeanour. And his smile was dreamy… perhaps Alfred could convince him to shave that moustache if he befriended him. He would file that away as another crisis of sorts averted.

‘And the ladies, Prince Yevgeny?’ Alfred challenged him. ‘Do you not find them handsome?’

‘Well, I do!’ the prince’s friend said brightly and abandoned them in favour of taking a lady to the dance floor.

‘Yes, v-very handsome, the ladies, too,’ Yevgeny uttered in embarrassment. His ears went as red as his lapel. It was utterly charming.

Alfred felt a rush of excitement course through him. This, he had nearly forgotten this! The heady feeling of flirting with a gorgeous man, even if it would never come to anything. How could it? Alfred was an English marquess’ younger son with a courtesy title and not a full season’s experience at court. Prince Yevgeny was considered related to divinities at home.

Why was he so shy, then? Alfred had an idea. It involved a lot more champagne and an invitation to a ride in the park. Yevgeny was a lot more confident in the saddle than on foot. They raced a lot. Alfred always won and teased his grace. They mostly spoke in French but when they didn’t, Alfred’s fondness only grew: the Russian prince would accidentally sound overly enthusiastic about the smallest things because he liked to say he “adored” everything when a simple “love” would have sufficed. He adored waking up early! He adored the tea at breakfast! He adored the pen he got as a present for his name day!

Despite his own undeniable adoration of the prince, Alfred didn’t intend for it to go any further. The chances of him seeing Alfred as anything other than a friend were next to none. But Alfred, being so young and reckless, had a hard time controlling himself. He would at least enjoy some boyish fun while he could. The court could be restrictive; Yevgeny had the same idea, and doubly so, since the Russian court was ridiculously formal compared to the English one. The relaxed rules got to his head, too.

And so it was that they happened to hang back after one dinner, only to find their bedrooms were next to each other—what a coincidence!

‘I hope you have been comfortable here in London, Your Grace,’ Alfred said, lingering in the carpeted corridor in the moonlight.

‘The hospitality has been magnificent. I worry we sleep so close by, me and our entire entourage, you see. Have you not any fear that we might steal your court secrets?’

‘Oh, no, au contraire, I feel quite safe. I never sleep with my door locked. Good night, your grace.’

The Russian prince may have been shy in public by day but he showed Alfred plenty of new tricks in bed by night.

He felt happier than ever. He was living in Buckingham Palace, he was the Queen’s friend and favoured dancing partner, he had good friends that supported him, and he enjoyed more passion than ever with Yevgeny every night.

*

Miss Drummond brought Lord Alfred clean clothes and some supper anyway and checked on Edward while he changed behind a partition.

‘Is it true? He jumped in front of the bullet?’ she asked.

‘It wouldn’t be Drummond if he hadn’t.’

‘You do know him well, then.’

Alfred resurfaced in a clean shirt and an Oxford blue Fisherman’s jumper too big on him. Edward’s clothes.

‘And y-you are Drummond’s sister,’ Alfred said equally awkwardly.

‘So our parents say.’ She sensed she was being watched. ‘…What?’ she asked, somewhat testily.

‘I confess I imagined the famous Miss Drummond differently.’

‘Famous? Does Edward talk about me a lot, too?’

‘Truth be told, not at all. He never mentioned he had a sister in the three years I’ve known him, not until yesterday.’

‘Good.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I said good. It is my request he do not mention me to his friends.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because every time he does, said friend comes knocking on my door with a proposal.’

*

Lord Alfred was chaperoning Her Majesty when Grand Duke Alexandre let her know, ever so gently and regretfully, that his father found him a Danish princess instead, and that he would have to return to Saint Petersburg.

‘Can’t you stay, Eugène?’ Alfred asked his lover that night after they had made love.

‘How could I? I must follow Prince Alexandre home,’ Yevgeny replied with the calmness of someone half falling asleep.

‘Why? You are your own man. You could decide to stay, for a little longer.’

‘ _Vous ne comprenez pas, mon cher Alfred_. You are still so young.’

‘So are you!’

‘Not quite as young as you, my dear. I am nearly thirty, I must go home and continue my normal life.’

‘I see, I was just a stop on your _grand tour_.’

‘Not at all! Alfred, my dear,’ Yevgeny comforted Alfred with kisses. ‘I am desolate.’

‘You mean sorry,’ Alfred corrected him, still huffish. At first, the prince’s clumsy English was cute but in these moments it was just annoying. Like his moustache—he never managed to convince him to get rid of it—the way it tickled was exciting then irritating from one second to the next. Alfred couldn’t make up his mind.

‘Yes, sorry, I am sorry. You do not see it but the English court, it is so free, so relaxed. My life is not meant to be like this. And that is how it must be. I prefer it that way. Everything in its normal order.’

‘You certainly don’t seem sad to leave me.’

‘I am sad to leave _you_. But I am also sad away from home. I cannot help it.’

‘Do you miss it very much?’

‘I do.’

‘More than you’ll miss me?’

‘It doesn’t compare, my dear. I wish I could show you. It is magnificent! You would love it.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Alfred asked, relenting a little.

‘Oh, you would not believe it. Buckingham is pretty enough but the Winter Palace is a city in comparison, gold everywhere, and formalities to remind us we are descended from God. It is a responsibility you cannot escape. A royal ball just for the dukes and princes counts 3000 easily. But it is not the grandeur I miss. It is my family. And my apartment, my books. And my dogs!’

‘Your dogs?’ Alfred smiled. He didn’t believe royalty had divine blood but this man couldn’t get any more adorable.

‘Yes, I have three beautiful Dalmatians that I take everywhere with me, every single day. Everyone knows they are allowed everywhere, in any room they please. I take them to my tree every morning, an oak tree more than three hundred years old, where I read and write, or just sit and think. When I get home, I will see my dogs again. I will go to my tree. That _chocolaterie_ in the city I favour. I will attend my sister’s wedding. I’ll be an uncle and welcome their children. Have children of my own.’

Alfred’s smile faded fast. He was perplexed at that part. He pulled away from Yevgeny’s arms.

‘Children of your own?’

‘Why, yes, I want lots of children!’

‘Are you… married?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Engaged?’

‘I hope to be! I cannot wait. I want a family.’

‘But…’ Alfred uttered, not sure how to say it since his question was too obvious to him. Not so much to the prince, who was looking at him with mild ignorance and curiosity, as if the fact that they were lying in bed naked together wasn’t enough to answer his query. ‘But… why? What about me?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You want to get married? To a woman?’

‘But of course, what else to do? Don’t you?’

Alfred felt put on the spot. ‘I… I’m… not sure…’ he stuttered, taken aback, feeling very strongly that the answer was no.

‘But do you not want children? A family?’

‘I’ve a vast enough family with ten dozen nieces and nephews as it is!’ Alfred joked but Yevgeny didn’t get it. He realised he was being absolutely serious. ‘Wait, Eugène, you actually want to be married? You mean you would love your wife?’

The prince considered this. ‘Yes. I will love my wife. Just like I love you,’ he said matter-of-factly.

‘You _love_ me?’ Alfred asked, his heart feeling funny. ‘Vraiment, Eugène? Vous m’ai----?

‘Mais oui, je vous adore, Alfred!’

Alfred felt so stupid at once. ‘Adore but not love.’

At the time, when he asked Prince Yevgeny to leave his room, he was angry and thought the prince was confused. As time passed, Alfred had a feeling that the prince would have said the same about him, that Alfred was the one confused because he did not even know what he wanted to do with his life.

What life? All he did was sat and drank tea or wine and gossiped with the ladies, careful not to upset Her Majesty with overly lewd details. When the Coburg princes arrived, at least he had Ernst to trick into betting 10 shillings on who rode back first to Windsor, knowing the prince had no idea how to convert English money yet. (He let the bet go only after seeing Ernst’s face at the sum.) Shame he wasn’t going to be Victoria’s husband. Prince Albert was such a bore. His lack of humour affected the whole court when he was around. Alfred could have spent more time in his Equerry office but the clerk there at the time had hazel eyes like Warwick so he was content to avoid that part of the palace as much as he could. He had a desk brought up into his rooms and did his paperwork there.

He couldn’t complain compared to those in the workhouses or his peers currently fighting in overseas wars but if he had to sit through one more day of planning Her Majesty’s wedding, Alfred felt he would keel over dead from pointlessness.

He got himself a dog.

*

‘I had no idea Drummond was friends with so many men who are after one’s dowry.’

‘He can be naïve. That’s why he’s a civil servant, not a party member. He gets on with everyone. He sees the good in people.’

‘And you don’t want to marry a fortune hunter.’

Miss Drummond brushed a curl out of Edward’s closed eyes, blew out the candle on the bedside table and stood.

‘I don’t want to marry at all. Just like him, which I suppose he has expressed to you if you are such close friends.’

‘He has,’ Alfred admitted carefully.

Her expression was indiscernible in the dark. ‘I ought to write to our parents before I retire.’

She went to the door.

‘Wake me if there’s anything. Good night, Lord Alfred.’

*

Perhaps Eugène was right in some things. Dogs helped.

‘Have you spent all day in here training Mr Bumps to curtsey?!’ the Duchess of Sutherland asked one day. She was just settling down at the piano for her practice and Alfred didn’t want to leave. Luckily, Baroness Portman was there, too, so he didn’t have to.

‘We have made very good progress, ma’am,’ Lord Alfred declared defiantly. ‘Let us show the ladies what we learned, shall, we? Mr Bumps, please curtsey to Lady Portman.’

The dog remained standing, looking up at Alfred expectantly.

He sighed. ‘I said, Mr Bumps, please curtsey to Lady Portman,’ he repeated and bowed this time so that the Dalmatian understood it was time to bend his knees.

The ladies applauded politely. Alfred rewarded Mr Bumps with a treat of cold meat he stole off the tiered sandwich tray.

The Duchess began her scales and Lord Alfred sat with Lady Portman for tea, the dog at their feet, very proud of himself.

‘You have been elusive since the Russian delegation have left, if you don’t mind me saying so,’ the baroness said to him.

‘Have I?’

‘You know you have. You have been doing remarkably at court, you know. We are all quite proud of you. But nowadays, I am surprised to see you out of your room. You would not be avoiding us now, would you, Lord Alfred?’

‘My favourite ladies in the whole world? Never.’

‘Such a charmer, just like your father. I wonder: would you not benefit from a trip?’

‘Where to?’

‘Perhaps a journey home to Wales. I hear Henry and Charlotte are planting a new Italian garden in Anglesey.’

‘So they are. Alas, I am not sure I feel up to the journey.’

‘You should go somewhere closer at any rate. You never leave the palace nowadays, only with us. Is there something weighing on your mind? Or perchance your heart?’

He was grateful for the baroness’s motherly spirit but he had learned by then how not to give himself away. ‘Perhaps I am a bit bored. That’s all.’

‘You must be up to here with talk of wedding dresses and flowers, Alfred,’ the duchess remarked cleverly from the piano. ‘Go to your club, play some pool with your gentleman friends. I’m sure Her Majesty could spare you for one night.’

‘I don’t much feel like pool, and we are receiving the princes tonight, I know you have not forgotten duchess,’ he said, satisfied to note that he successfully distracted her from her scales for a second. He shared the quickest, knowing glance with the baroness. ‘But I might visit the equestrian academy tomorrow, perhaps. I have been invited to judge a shooting competition. I’m sure it’ll be a bore but you may be right. I should stretch my legs. Care to join me?’

The baroness wrinkled her nose over her cup of tea. ‘It sounds rather a manly kind of outing, Lord Alfred.’

She was not wrong. The following morning found Lord Alfred in the company of hundreds of men and school boys and no women in sight. Heavenly. He was in dire need of listening to the sound of gunshots for a day rather than endless discussions on the exact shade of white Her Majesty’s dress was to be.

There was no point in judging, though. There was one clear winner. His name was William Peel.

*

When Edward mentioned his sister the day before, Alfred imagined a frivolous, spoiled, society lady who must have been best friends with Lady Florence. The young woman who left him alone in Edward’s room cut a completely different sight in her unfashionably un-voluminous skirt, manly shirt and tie, and unladylike posture. He remembered her shouting at him and labouring to tend to Edward without any squeamishness. It struck him that this woman was not one who often reached for her smelling salts.

Edward could have hardly imagined Alfred would be her potential suitor, yet he had remained loyal to his sister’s request to remain obscure among his friends.

“You are not the only one with secrets,” he once said to Edward, when he asked about William.

Perhaps not. But secrets, he had.

And so did Alfred.

*

Alfred saw him again not a week later at Drayton Manor. Sir Robert and Lady Peel’s anniversary was being honoured. A number of statesmen, regardless of party politics, were invited. Regardless, or precisely because of it: such a gathering was a good opportunity for lobbying. That’s why Lord and Lady Anglesey were on the guest list, no doubt. Alfred didn’t know why he allowed his parents to drag him all the way here for the party, if you could call it that, with the most pious conversations about marriage. Perhaps they wanted to inspire him to find a bride?

Alfred wasn’t opposed to some coupling, only his way. He had been feeling like a wilting flower. He hadn’t been with anyone for over a year. Any longer and he might start fearing he would be alone forever. He thought about writing to Michael every day. If only Sir Robert had a handsome Private Secretary. Or a gardener. Anyone.

‘Have you met my son?’ the MP asked Alfred by virtue of him standing nearest him at that moment.

‘I have!’ Alfred rejoiced. Finally, a man his own age, and William was just as handsome as he remembered. ‘He is the most excellent shot—I had the honour of judging the competition at my old academy just last week.’

‘Oh. How splendid,’ Sir Robert said coldly and walked away, his face set.

His son, who for some reason had nearly been late and was just buttoning up his evening frock coat, snorted.

‘Have I said something wrong?’ Alfred asked.

‘I’m afraid my performance has caused my father a bit of a headache.’

‘But you were marvellous!’

‘Precisely. I was too good to believe. Papa has been accused of pulling some strings.’

‘But how awful!’

‘What’s awful is they all think I care about a gilded little cup! I don’t shoot for prizes.’

‘What do you shoot for?’

William smiled devilishly. He was so handsome (and he knew it), his long dark hair, his eyes so mysterious, mischievous, and fiery that Alfred had to check whether he was standing too close to a fireplace as he suddenly felt quite hot in his skin.

The dining room opened. A fine dining table laid lavishly for thirty-odd guests greeted them. Everyone complimented Lady Peel on it. The courses arrived one by one. Everything was incredibly elegant. Clearly, Sir Robert used even his own wedding anniversary as a political stunt. Alfred noticed he shot less than warm looks for his son from time to time. William was unlike most gentlemen Alfred had met indeed. He wasn’t vulgar in the sense that the chartists were when they leered and jeered drunkenly, eager to start a brawl in the streets. This kind of vulgarity was of a wholly different colour. William was like a cat, a panther, biding his time, carrying an aura of danger around him. He didn’t speak much but when he did, one never knew what to expect next. He obliterated anyone he didn’t agree with, with two well-placed words. He used his wit like a sword. If a guest boasted about his cotton factory, he would bring up the appalling working conditions he had seen in India. When Lady Peel offered to send a box of her own blend of tea to one of her guests, he would recommend opium instead, which was by far the superior produce he had found in China. And then came the toasts.

Lord Alfred noticed William had drunk three large glasses of wine just in the course of Sir Robert’s speech.

It would have been alright if Sir Robert had simply sat down and waved for the footmen to bring dessert. Unfortunately, he asked William to make a speech, too, as was customary.

‘I prefer not to.’

‘Don’t you think it right to honour your mother with a few kind words?’

‘My mother, yes.’

Sir Robert swallowed his pride and nudged him again. ‘Up you stand, son. We are all waiting.’

‘I mean it, father.’

‘Son—’

William’s dessert knife landed in the heart of the painting of his grandfather on the wall right behind Sir Robert.

‘I said I prefer not to,’ he declared coolly, grabbed a bottle of wine, and left the dining room.

After this, they tried to get back to normal but the audacity of the MP’s son spoiled the evening. The men and women split up for cigars and gossip respectively. Later, Lord Alfred was still looking for William. He told his father he was popping out to smoke but he wandered down some corridors instead.

All he had to do was follow the sounds of an argument. Sir Robert and William were using the library as the site of a shouting match.

‘…you shouldn’t have come here tonight if you cannot stop yourself from flaunting your ways!’

‘What ways, Papa? Huh? Tell me.’

Alfred hid behind the corner when Sir Robert stormed out and left towards the salon where his guests were still in lively conversation, no doubt about his incompetence when it came to his son.

Lord Alfred snuck into the library.

‘I SAID I’M NOT GOING BACK—oh, it’s just you. Lord…’ William squinted while trying to remember.

‘Alfred. Paget.’

‘Paget, huh? Bring me that whisky while you’re there, will you?’

Alfred was unsure.

‘Please, _my lord_ ,’ William added in a heated, deep, almost seductive voice.

Lord Alfred didn’t think it a good idea but he poured whisky for two at the liquor cabinet and approached the chap, who was sitting casually on the window ledge. He was already so drunken he couldn’t light his own cigar. Alfred held out his tinderbox for him to save him the embarrassment.

‘How well equipped you are!’ William remarked and held Alfred’s hand steady while he lit up.

They drank, and smoked, in silence. William was watching the grounds outside, the stars in the night sky, the ascending trails of smoke he exhaled.

‘Do you ride, Lord Alfred?’ he asked out of the blue. ‘You look like a man who rides.’

‘I am Her Majesty’s Chief Equerry.’

‘Oh, fancy that… Ah, that’s why you were on the panel. I see. Do you want to ride with me?’

‘I’m sure we could arrange that.’

‘No. Now.’

‘N-now?!’

‘Right now!’

‘We can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because we cannot!’

Ten minutes later, they were racing across the estate on horseback.

They circled a fishing pond by the woods. William stopped to relieve himself by a tree.

By the time Alfred had tied the horses’ reins to another tree, William had jumped into the lake, completely naked.

It was his power that Alfred followed after a bit of convincing. That was how it was always going to be between them: William would have some mad idea, Alfred would hesitate, William would remind him it might be his last day on Earth, and Alfred would give in and enjoy himself, perhaps not always quite as much as William.

One thing led to another, they kept touching, and it was inevitable.

For the next couple of years, Alfred became the image of exemplary, courtly servitude by day, empowered by gossip from the ladies and secrets from William. His angelic looks worked in his favour. You could say anything to him, he would never betray anyone. He would never hurt a fly.

But whenever William was around, he would become someone different.

William would ask him to do things, things that were completely ridiculous, but as soon as William showed him his fresh scars or broke the news that he was off fighting in another conflict overseas, Alfred found himself tying William to the bed and fucking him just like he asked for. He dressed up for him, he talked French for him, he once he tried on a corset for him, and rouge and powder, other times there was a whip involved and “My lord” became a phrase that brought colour to Alfred’s cheeks. William had a greed for him like no one else, and Alfred wanted to be needed that much, more, always more.

The trouble was, he never knew when he would see him again. Sometimes weeks, even months would pass. And then, all of a sudden, Alfred would receive a note in the middle of the day and he would skip his obligations, excuse himself from his duties, drop the very playing cards in his hands and run to William just as he was.

While it could be fun, Alfred learned he preferred their encounters without embellishments or substances that William was never short of. He found he wanted just William, without his mad fancies. He began to ask they forget about the eccentricities and just go to bed, just them, together. William didn’t insist on anything, he was happy to have Alfred for himself any which way. They would also go out for dinner and talk. The soldier often amused Alfred with endless stories about his adventures, as well as plenty of gossip about Sir Robert, Palmerston, Bentinck, and others, until Alfred no longer felt like a novice at court. He had gathered enough secrets about everyone to destroy them—not that he wanted to but it was good to have extra security. He knew exactly how to talk to whom and what to say to make an ally out of anyone. He no longer felt like he didn’t know where he was going. He was going onwards and upwards.

‘…I’m telling you, Pam may pretend otherwise in the club but he positively pines for her.’

‘And do you pine for me when you are abroad?’ Alfred teased William one night in his apartment after Ciro’s.

‘Always.’

That’s what Alfred wanted to hear. He threw back the covers and kissed him fervently at first but then softly, quite unlike how they usually devoured each other. ‘I love you,’ he whispered against his lover’s lips without thinking.

‘Let’s go out,’ William suggested suddenly and got out of bed to dress.

‘Must we?’

‘I’ve a surprise for you.’

The surprise was a narrow townhouse in Moorfields with shaded windows.

‘William, what is this place?’ Alfred asked once they were inside, regretting that they came by his marked carriage to the ill-reputed area. The house was reeking of kitsch, opium, and all sorts of incoherent moans from rooms on their way upstairs into a dodgy little suite.

‘Just relax, Alfred, and enjoy it. Tonight is on me,’ William winked and got comfortable in a torn and stained armchair. He snapped his fingers and a young man brought them glasses of lukewarm wine. Another snap and William’s clothes were being unbuttoned by two other chaps. ‘Drink. There’s laudanum in there.’

Alfred put down his glass of wine without tasting it. He threw William a couple of coins, told him to have fun without him, and left.

He didn’t expect William to chase after him but the Sir Robert’s scandalously wild son climbed into Alfred’s moving carriage before it left the street, the reckless fool he was.

‘What happened? Not to your taste after all?’ Alfred spat without looking at him.

‘I realised I wanted to spend my last night with you before India.’

‘Then why did you bring me here?’

‘I don’t know, I thought it would be fun. Memorable.’

‘Memorable, like the maladies you’ll catch from these sorts of… people.’

Come to think of it, Alfred prayed William hadn’t given him some ghastly illness already. He would give himself a thorough examination in the mirror every day for months to come just to make sure.

‘Look, if it was your last day—’

‘When will I see you again?’ Alfred asked him as always.

There was never a clear answer. Until now.

‘Never.’

Alfred chuckled bitterly. William had a way of twisting one’s emotions and playing jokes on everyone every second.

‘Seriously. When? Her Majesty is going to ask Sir Robert to form a government next week. I cannot think of a duller prospect than attending your dear Papa’s audiences with her. Besides, she detests him. It will be my job to warm her to Sir Robert, which...’ Alfred shook his head. ‘My only comfort is in knowing I shall spend the night with his son.’

William was quiet as he watched the dark streets. Dull gas lamps were lit here and there but the city was so dark they could barely see each other in the carriage.

‘William?’

‘Alfred, I found a letter on Papa’s desk addressed to the MET police. He wants me arrested.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I will not be returning to the apartment. I have everything loaded on my ship. Could you give me a lift to the docks?’

‘What, now?!’

‘Yes. Now.’

‘But William… Jesus Christ, does Sir Robert know about us? About me?!’

‘No. Not at all.’

‘Are you sure?!’

‘I am quite, quite sure. Do not worry about that. He doesn’t even know I was renting private rooms. He’s always been a mere nuisance but he actually caught me with a footman and had enough of me.’

‘Excuse me?!’

‘He was supposed to be at the House all day!’

‘I meant _me_.’

Later, Alfred didn’t understand how he had the kindness in himself not to throw William right out of the carriage in the middle of the street. He was hurt to the core. But he took him to the harbour. They bid each other rather anticlimactic goodbyes in the dead of night, Alfred slammed the carriage door shut, and tapped the roof for the groom to drive away.

He was done with the dark waters. Back to the Palace.

*

‘…And this is the man whose life you shielded from harm with your own body, Edward. Sir Robert Peel, who intended to arrest his own son for being… like us. If your roles were reversed I’d scarcely think he would have done the same for you if he knew. I reckon he would not hesitate to report us even now he can thank his life to you. If you… because of him… I will never…’

Alfred dried his eyes on the sleeve of Edward’s shirt that he was wearing.

He had been talking to Edward for the good part of an hour to no avail. Perhaps it was for the better. Alfred needed this as a kind of confession but Edward didn’t need to know about all this. Alfred knew he had a past that made him entirely undeserving of someone as good as Edward.

‘But I am glad he is gone now. William. I met you at the inspection of the troops a month later, do you remember? I didn’t even say hello. I was very suspicious of you, you know. I told you, I expected a portly old sod, the greedy banker type. I’m sorry. But even when I saw you—gorgeous, intelligent, brave you—I thought, surely, Sir Robert’s private secretary must be just like him, judgmental, pious, and stuck-up. The famous Edward Drummond that Wellington never ceased to praise. How wrong I was! You are not like them at all. Not any of them. … If anyone, you remind me of Michael a bit. Do you know, the day you gave me fire on the balcony, I had spent the day at Brocket Hall, waiting on Her Majesty with Lady Portman. She’s a godsend—I was distraught all day but she kept my spirits up. I’d had a letter from him inviting me to his wedding in France. He’s done well for himself. No word for seven years and now he wanted me to go to his wedding. To make amends. I used the cheroot you lit for me to burn his letter.’

Alfred stopped talking to Edward at last. He heard the grandfather clock in the landing strike three in the morning. Feeling like his bones were made of lead, he scooted up on the bed next to Edward without letting go of his hand, and tried to rest with him.

When he woke up, he was covered with a tartan blanket and fresh coffee and toast had been placed on the table.

He jumped when he heard a sound from behind him.

‘I’m sorry,’ Miss Drummond said very softly. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you but you should know, Lady Florence is on her way here.’

Alfred didn’t know how on earth he could explain away why he had been sleeping in Drummond’s bed, right by his side, hand in hand. He sat up and searched for words.

‘We’ll talk later,’ she stopped him at once. ‘At least I can be sure not to expect a proposal from you.’

She forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

‘He doesn’t have a fever,’ she said as a form of good news.

‘W-What should I do? I’ve never met Florence.’

‘Leave her to me. But if I were you I would pull myself together just in case. I find it never hurts to look one’s strongest in front of an enemy.’

Alfred agreed, thankful there was an understanding on this between them. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and moved to get up.

But he could not. He felt a tugging on his hand.

Edward wasn’t letting him go. In fact, he held Alfred’s hand in quite a grip.

‘Edward?’ Alfred called, urging him. Again. Again.

He was stirring. They waited with bated breath, calling his name, shaking him gently awake...

And Edward opened his eyes.


	10. Cups of Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the morning after the assassination attempt and everyone is eager to know: will Drummond live? The invalid's sickbed is far too busy for his liking and he finds it hard to follow remedial advice until a helping cup of coffee comes to the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Period accurate language for the mentally ill in this chapter. Weird how language changes but the words used below were the non-offensive terms of the day.

‘That damned scalawag!’

‘Stephenson.’

‘Sorry. That deuced Devil!’

‘Stephenson!’

‘Sorry, sir! That dashed scoundrel!

‘Language! Lady Florence will be here any minute!’

‘At the House? This is no place for a woman! Ah, but, everything is upside down this morning. I do apologise for my loss of decorum, Sir Robert, but this is an outrage! A scandal!’

The junior secretary was very upset indeed this morning. He was spilling his coffee all over his freshly scribbled reports in his fury. The Prime Minister told him every detail of the incident outside the Parliament but it was all over the morning papers. It was a proper assassination attempt on the prime minister of the United Kingdom. It was bad, very bad indeed!

‘How is Drummond? Should I expect a sad promotion?’

‘He survives,’ Sir Robert replied with significance.

‘Lucky devil. The Lord’s on his side, and deserved, too. For him to get caught up in such a business—he, who has such a gentle disposition it is unthinkable that he should ever have enemies!’

‘The enemy was mine. He only got in the middle of it, completely exempt from fault. Drummond’s bravery is outstanding.’

‘You’ll have to give him a bloody good wedding present now, Sir Robert!’

‘Shush, Stephenson.’

‘I do apologise. I never know what to do with tragedy except to try to make light of it. In all seriousness, do let me know if you know anything more about the poor chap.’

‘I mean to visit him before the session begins, hence why I am waiting for his fiancée’s carriage to pick me up. Would you like to come along?’

‘I’d better not. I must hold the fort here while you are there, what with the result of the vote last night. But, oh, damnation, the chap must be a gruesome sight! Not fit to receive a woman visitor. Is this wise? Had you not better call on him at a later time?’

‘That is what I said but the girl is devoted. And, frankly, after spending hours with the police last night, giving my statement and whatnot, I was too tired to argue.’

‘Women!’ Stephenson exclaimed with a look men shared among themselves.

There was a knock on the door of their offices. It wasn’t Florence but a gentleman with an incredibly satisfied smirk on his bearded face.

‘Ah, Prime Minister. They said you were here,’ the man said by way of a greeting.

‘Humphries!’ a yet more riled up Stephenson said at once. ‘What the bloody tarnation are you doing here?’

‘Language, man!’ Sir Robert scolded him. He already missed Drummond. ‘And some decorum!’

‘No need for formalities,’ Humphries said nonchalantly. ‘I won’t be a second.’

‘No, I am merely looking out for you, Humphries. This is a place for intelligent gentlemen—I believe what you were hoping to find was the zoo. You’d fit right in.’

‘I am in the right place, then. This is your office, is it not, Sir Robert? I have only come to thank you. The assassination attempt against you is just what I needed. Brilliant! Do let me know if Mr Drummond passes away. It would complete my case magnificently.’

‘I beg your pardon, sir?!’ Sir Robert asked in outrage.

Stephenson stepped in quickly. ‘Do not agitate yourself, Prime Minister. Humphries will be defending the assassin, McNaughten or whatever the bloody hell he is called. He has come to brag.’

‘That, I will,’ Humphries, the lawyer said airily.

‘Brag?’

‘Defend Mr McNaughten. Just watch: I shall make history here. It is time for a precedence for the cause of the insane.’

‘You care not a fig about the insane, you just want to get your name printed in the Times.’

‘I need not try as it has already happened,’ the lawyer said and threw his copy of the paper at the Junior Secretary, who caught it just in time but at the cost of dropping and smashing his cup of coffee on the hardwood floor. ‘I told you this day would come, Stephenson. I wanted to make sure you do not miss a word of the upcoming trial.’

‘You are defending the man who raised a gun at my person and injured one of the finest gentleman in the land?!’ Sir Robert demanded. ‘Have you no shame, sir? He is a murderer. An assassin!’

‘Please, some empathy, gentlemen. My defendant is ignorant of the wrongness of his actions and as such should be handled as a lunatic, not a murderer.’

‘That man is not a lunatic. He should be hanged!’ Stephenson chimed in.

‘We shall see,’ the lawyer quipped, completely unaffected but very smug. ‘May the best man win. Good day, gentlemen.’

Stephenson turned to Sir Robert to huff and curse some more until a page arrived with the message that Lady Florence’s carriage was waiting.

‘Shake his hand for me, too, Sir Robert. And don’t be long, the backbenchers will be like vipers today, especially in your absence.’

‘Hm. Let us just hope Drummond’s well enough for a handshake.’

*

The world swam into focus. Edward felt drained and dizzy as soon as he tried to lift his head. He recognised him even through the blur.

‘Alfred…’

Charlotte had never seen a man’s whole expression and demeanour go from complete devastation to complete and utter love and devotion within a second until she saw Lord Alfred the second he heard his name.

‘Yes. That’s me. I’m here, Drummond,’ Alfred reassured him and kissed the back of his hand in relief.

Edward gave a dazed smile his direction, still coming to terms with his surroundings. He rubbed his eyes to see better—wincing as he lifted his arm—wait, despite Alfred’s show of intimacy, he realised they weren’t alone.

‘Charlotte?’

She was bombarding him with questions without hesitation.

‘Edward? How are you feeling? Does it hurt? Are you in pain? How does it feel?’

‘Well, it doesn’t feel like a kiss,’ Edward muttered through dry lips.

At least his sense of humour was intact. She helped him to a sip of water.

In truth, he didn’t feel pain per se. Only when he tried to move. It felt warm when he was shot, as well as now, and sore, but the only time he actually suffered great pains was when Lord Anglesey was fishing for the bullet, which was Edward’s undoing in the end. That was in the past. He was glad for the morning. And what a wonderful morning, with Alfred by his side, and was that…?

‘Is that coffee I smell?’ he asked, longing for some already.

‘He’s incorrigible,’ she muttered to Alfred. ‘Perhaps we should wait for the doctor to come before you have anything, Edward.’

‘Why, should I be worried it will spurt out of my stomach like a city fountain?’

‘He shall be here in an hour.’

‘This doctor, it’s not the one your housemaid brought last night, I hope?’ Alfred asked her.

‘No. A sober one.’

‘Sober? What’s this?’ Edward inquired.

‘After you fainted, a doctor paid us a visit but we didn’t let him do anything. In fact, what he wanted to do was let your blood. Don’t worry,’ Charlotte went on quickly as Edward got nervous. ‘This won’t be him, it’ll be our usual physician, Doctor Brewer.’

‘And Lord Anglesey?’ Edward asked, wriggling gingerly into a more comfortable position on his pillow.

‘Papa? Why, he is at the House, I presume,’ Alfred said, breaking into a smile. He couldn’t help it now that he saw Edward might just be well. ‘In case you forgot: the reason you are hurt is because of the Corn Laws result. The House will be busy today.’

‘True. Shame, I should have liked to thank him.’

‘He said he might visit later. I might catch him at lunchtime anyway. Wait, have you warmed to Papa already? We didn’t even get to have that dinner.’

‘Yes, let us never try to dine at Ciro’s again, it does seem to jinx our evenings. Well, I do thank him at any rate. And I shall make sure never to be on his bad side as he certainly knows how to inflict pain!’

‘Well, the good news is he saved you the bullet,’ Charlotte remarked, also starting to feel more relieved now that Edward was in a talkative mood. ‘He thought you might like it as a souvenir. I put it in my jewellery box but he suggested we hold a funeral when you wake.’

Alfred laughed. ‘Wouldn’t be Papa if he hadn’t!’

Edward laughed too but then hissed from even that little overexertion, sending the others into a panic in a flash.

‘Edward? What’s wrong?’ Charlotte asked.

‘Aside from the fact I have been shot?’ Edward joked sarcastically.

‘Is it very bad? Can we get you anything? What do you need?’

Edward bit his bottom lip. There was actually something he needed.

‘What? What do you need, Edward?’

‘I… uh… Alfred, could you leave, please?’

‘Leave?’ Alfred asked, confused and hurt. ‘But Edward…’

‘It’s nothing, I just need you to leave for a minute.’

‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you,’ Alfred insisted with passionate chivalry.

‘What is it, Edward?’ Charlotte asked.

Edward hesitated.

‘Whatever it is, you can say it in front of me,’ Alfred reassured him while his own panic was growing. ‘What is it, are you in pain? Shall I call for Papa? For the doctor to come sooner? By God, you are unwell, are you not? Edward, talk, _talk_ to me!’

Edward sighed.

‘I just need to go to the water closet,’ he admitted uncomfortably. ‘So, um… could you please allow me to get up and go to the bathroom? Uh… thank you.’

Charlotte didn’t even try not to laugh. Her relief was complete: she had spent the whole night twisting and turning in worry for her dearest sibling. But, miraculously, he was fine. And… functioning.

‘You shouldn’t stand just now. You lost so much blood last night, it really was horrible,’ she pointed out. ‘Let me get you a chamber pot, big brother.’

‘No!’ Edward was mortified. ‘Just let me go, I won’t be a second.’

‘Come, lean on me, I’ll support you,’ Alfred offered, taking Edward’s arm in support.

‘Thank you, Alfred, but I believe I can walk to the bathroom by myself,’ Edward insisted and pushed himself up, regretting it immediately. His abdominal muscles felt as if a knife had been twisted in them. And it showed on his face.

‘No, you are going to faint and hurt yourself even worse!’

Edward did feel terribly dizzy, too, now that he was sat up. His ears were ringing and he really felt terribly odd. He found it difficult to keep his eyes open. He felt weak and lightheaded. It annoyed him far more than the discomfort of the wound.

‘See?’ Alfred scolded him.

‘I’m fine,’ Edward lied.

‘How many fingers am I holding up?’

Edward sighed. ‘Fine, if Charlotte helped me, would that make you happy?’

‘Right, yes, Charlotte will help!’ Charlotte muttered audibly, displeased.

‘The maid, then,’ Alfred suggested.

Charlotte and Edward said “No!” at the same time suspiciously quickly.

‘Shall I send for your valet?’

‘I’ll help him, for goodness sake!’ Charlotte declared when Edward wanted to argue further despite his insistent bladder. He put on his dressing gown under the sheets for modesty, his mortification complete, and allowed her to walk her to his bathroom behind a hidden door that blended into the wallpaper.

‘I can manage now, thank you,’ Edward said as soon as he made it.

‘Can you?’ Charlotte asked sceptically.

‘I said I can manage!’

As soon as Charlotte stepped away Edward was ready to collapse face first right on the loo. She was quick to catch him by the underarms, albeit with difficulty as he was a well-built young man with rock hard muscles from all the swimming, rowing, boxing, riding, fencing, cricketing, and who knew what else he liked to do.

However, at the moment, he could barely stand on his own feet. And so she made her peace with what was to happen.

‘Go on, brother dear. The sooner we get it over with, the better.’

‘I couldn’t. Not with your company.’

‘Shall I get Lord Alfred?’

‘No!’

‘Why not? He’s a soldier. He’s a man.’

‘I have my reasons.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ she remarked knowingly. ‘Well, then.’

‘This is a nightmare.’

‘You _could_ sit.’

‘…I fear I wouldn’t be able to stand up.’

‘I’ll help you up.’

‘I’m too heavy for you.’

‘Would you just do it?!’

Alfred pretended not to listen. He was. But only because he wasn’t sure Miss Drummond was strong enough to prevent Edward from collapsing on the hard tiles and hurting his wound again or worse, hit his head on the sink! Alfred was already mapping out how Edward would meet his early death after all when he heard another sound, from outside.

A carriage pulled up outside the front door. He caught sight first of a mop of fading ginger curls, then the top of a pale pink bonnet.

Lady Florence was arriving, with Sir Robert apparently.

‘Let us never mention this again, Charlotte,’ Edward declared once he was done and leaning on his sister for support on the way out of the bathroom.

‘I shall send for your valet at once,’ she agreed. ‘You wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Lord Alfred again, I presume.’

‘It’s just that he is such a fine gentleman and courtier…’

‘Yes, I’m sure he is the finest of gentlemen.’ Charlotte grinned to herself and looked up only to find the bedroom empty. ‘But where is he?’

Lord Alfred was downstairs, pacing up and down in the sitting room. He caught sight of himself in the mirror above the fireplace. He was wearing Edward’s oversized clothes and his hair badly needed a comb, not to mention his red-rimmed eyes and those dark circles! How fine he had looked the night before! And before that—Miss Coke even complimented him on his fine clothes! He had always imagined meeting his nemesis wearing his best attire and having freshly shaven! Instead, now he looked like he had just rolled out of bed. He HAD just rolled out of bed!

The lady’s maid led them in all too soon.

‘After you,’ Sir Robert said to the young woman in pink.

She untied her bonnet upon entering with a swift and elegant move of her delicate, gloved hands, revealing full lips, a rosy complexion, brilliant blue eyes, and shiny blonde hair that was styled according to the latest fashion. So that was her. Lady Florence.

‘What’s the gardener doing in the house?’ she asked when she caught sight of Alfred.

‘Oh, that’s, uh, that’s Lord Alfred Paget,’ Sir Robert corrected her. ‘Lord Alfred, may I introduce you to Lady Florence Kerr?’

Alfred was too speechless so he just bowed.

All he wanted was to be upstairs with his love, who needed him. Instead, he was down in the sitting room with two of his most detested people in the world, just to be certain they would not disturb Edward. True, he had warmed to Sir Robert somewhat during the three years he had been privy to his audiences with Her Majesty, and because of Drummond’s admiration of the statesman. However, now that his politics couldn’t have endangered his love more directly, Alfred’s old grudge had returned with a vengeance. How many more of his lovers will Sir Robert personally victimise?!

As for Florence, he was yet to find any redeeming qualities of hers. Particularly that she looked him up and down again as if in disbelief of his status as a gentleman.

None of this was apparent on his face. He was practiced at the art of dissembling.

‘Pleasure,’ Florence said, seemingly equally indifferent.

‘He is Drummond’s good friend,’ Sir Robert explained further. ‘From Her Majesty’s court, though he doesn’t look it at the moment,’ he added, bringing a blush of embarrassment to Alfred’s cheeks.

‘I know. Edward speaks about him so often. They both like those awful cheroots. Where is he?’

‘Upstairs, with his sister,’ said Alfred, finding his voice.

‘How is he?’ Sir Robert asked, fearing the worst.

‘Better. He has woken up and he doesn’t seem to have a fever. But he needs rest.’

Sir Robert was extremely relieved. ‘Of course he does.’

‘I want to see him,’ Lady Florence declared and set out to go upstairs without permission.

Alfred wanted to protest but then he realised she doesn’t need his permission.

As if in answer to a prayer, Miss Drummond appeared, blocking the doorway. Florence nearly dropped her frilly, pink fan that matched her dress.

‘Florence! Good morning,’ she said all too brightly. Lord Alfred noticed her nostrils were wide, like a bull in a rage, even as she was smiling.

‘Hello, Charlotte. What a pretty… tie. I wish to see Edward. May I?’

‘Not right now. He has just gone back to sleep.’

‘I must speak with him. It is urgent.’

Alfred remembered what Miss Coke said. He knew exactly what Florence wanted. To set the date. Even now! Sir Robert, who sometimes looked to him during his audiences with Queen Victoria, sensed a conflict at once.

‘Lady Florence, Drummond suffered a terrible injury,’ the statesman pointed out very diplomatically. Alfred didn’t expect to feel gratitude for William’s father, particularly on this day but there they were. ‘It was an awful sight to behold. The man is lucky to be alive. I am lucky to be alive, thanks to him! I should have liked to shake his hand we understand he is in a delicate state at present. Miss Drummond, do send him my regards and enormous gratitude. And those of Stephenson, the junior secretary. He couldn’t come. In fact, I ought to return to the House as well.’

Florence snapped her fan shut. ‘What is the point of this visit if I cannot even see my own _fiancé_?’

That one word, uttered with an overly forced French lilt, struck a nerve with Alfred and he stepped forwards.

‘Precisely. Perhaps it would be better for you to leave and not to return until Drummond feels ready for visitors. Sir Robert? Would you escort Lady Florence back home?’

Alfred caught Charlotte’s mouth twitching with a held back smirk of triumph.

‘But…’

‘I shall let him know personally that you have come here and sent him your kindest regards while he recovers.’

Lady Florence weighed her options and seemed as if she was about to relent. However, she turned to Miss Drummond again in a sweet, melodious voice.

‘Very well, but Charlotte, darling, but would you be a dear and let us have a bit of coffee before we leave? We neither of us have had a crumb for breakfast yet. I came running to my dearest Edward as soon as I could. Sir Robert, do stay with me before you go to Westminster. You’ll need your strength today so you must grab a bite and I should so love to hear again the story of how my betrothed saved you so heroically!’

And with that, she made herself comfortable on the sofa. The queen was reigning.

‘Of course,’ Charlotte said through gritted teeth.

‘And could you please serve us yourself, dear Charlotte? I cannot have that clumsy new housemaid of yours spill anything on my new dress. The satin is from Paris.’

The doorbell rang.

‘That must be the physician,’ Charlotte announced. ‘I shall be back with the coffee. Lord Alfred, would you follow me, please?’

‘Ugh! She knows I hate entertaining,’ Charlotte huffed discretely to him in the foyer. The maid opened the door, it was indeed the doctor. Charlotte and Cecilia made their way into the kitchen, while Alfred led him upstairs and caught him up on what had happened:

‘…He has since woken up but he is in a very tender state, although his temperature is no higher than usual and the wound has been dressed, but he needs rest, in fact, he may be sleeping at the moment—Edward?!’

When Alfred and the doctor entered, Edward looked up from the newspaper he was reading like deer in the headlight. Far from resting, he had a freshly ironed broadsheet in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other, a mouth full of toast, and his folder was open on the bed beside him, papers strewn everywhere, the image complete with a pen and an ink pellet for taking notes.

His shoulders sagged. He swallowed his toast.

‘Hello, Doctor Brewer.’

‘I thought you were asleep!’ Alfred started fretting at once, packing up all the papers and placing them well out of Edward’s reach, who looked after them longingly, especially his beloved folder. ‘One leaves you alone for two minutes and you are already working away as if nothing happened! Wouldn’t be you, Drummond.’

‘The coffee smelled too good,’ Edward said as a feeble excuse.

‘Doctor Brewer, I believe Drummond is suffering from a chronic illness indeed: he is in dire need of having his incorrigible work obsession remedied.’

The physician laughed warmly. ‘Let me have a look at the abdominal trauma first, and then I shall also see about that if we have time.’

Edward cooperated with his trusted physician, even though it caused him great discomfort to be moved about and prodded this way and that. Brewer examined the wound, cleaned it with an iodine-based solution, showed Alfred how to redress it, which was to be done every 12 hours, to make sure it was kept dry, that the patient had fresh air always, and plenty of water.

‘Is… is that it?’ Alfred asked.

‘Well, yes.’

‘But how serious is the damage caused by the bullet?’

‘Not gravely serious. Mr Drummond is uncommonly lucky. It is a flesh wound. Fairly deep but not enough to have injured any organs as far as I can tell. You say Lord Anglesey extracted the bullet?’

‘He did.’

‘Did it seem as if shards had broken off it?’

‘Not that I can remember…’

‘No,’ Drummond confirmed. ‘I remember him pulling it out in one piece quite vividly.’

Alfred bit back a grin. He hoped for a wholly different first encounter between his beloved father and his beloved Edward.

‘My father also cleaned the wound.’

‘He would know all about it alright. He lost his leg at Waterloo, did he not? I lost my father! How careless we both are, aren’t we? Well, whatever he did, he did right. There is no sign of infection. If we keep it that way, he shall be good as new soon enough. But he must rest and wait.’

‘So… he’ll live?’ Alfred asked, just to make absolutely sure. He had to hear it in as many words.

‘Yes. Mr Drummond will live.’

Alfred and Edward shared relieved smiles, albeit the invalid hissed from a sudden jolt of ache again.

‘And the pain?’

‘Ah…’ Brewer knew just what to do. He searched his medical bag for a tiny vial, which he handed to Lord Alfred. ‘Every three or four hours maximum, orally. Twenty drops should do it. Not one more.’

Alfred read the label and cheered up. ‘Do not worry, Doctor, I shall make sure Drummond is in good hands.’

Just then, Florence entered without knocking. Edward’s first instinct was to yank the covers up to his neck, hissing again from his own sudden movement. Charlotte ran in after her, frustrated to bits.

‘I tried to stop her,’ she said apologetically.

Florence glided past the men without a care for any of them until she reached the bed.

‘I wish to speak to Edward in private,’ she demanded.

‘I am in no fit state for visitors at present, Florence,’ Edward replied timidly.

‘I shan’t be long.’

‘Alfred.’

‘Drummond needs rest, Lady Florence,’ Alfred stepped in on Edward’s request.

‘I’ve no intention to be rude, Lord Alfred, but I will not be ordered about by a man dressed as a tent at a cricket match.’

‘Florence! That man you are talking to is my very best friend, as well as Her Majesty’s Chief Equerry and one of her closest confidants,’ Edward retorted in defence of his love even if it caused him some pain to raise his voice.

‘And as such,’ Alfred picked up, ‘I ought to remind you that propriety dictates we do not leave you two alone, _Lady_ Florence,’ Alfred cut in cleverly, thinking he won. ‘Not without a chaperone.’

‘As a matter of fact, we _can_ be left alone, with the door open, since we are engaged,’ Florence reasoned confidently. ‘Besides, I am not going to be improper with an injured man, now, am I? Particularly if he is my beloved _fiancé_ , whom I could never be prevailed upon to cause any harm. And, may I just add, if you are so knowledgeable about all matters pertaining to us, _Lord_ Alfred, I need not reminding you that you are the lesser son from the second marriage of a _divorced_ marquis and a _divorced_ marchioness, whereas my son shall be the next Marquess of Lothian. So, please. May I have a word with the future father of said son?’

Alfred wanted to retort so very much. In fact, he wished he had his longsword on him.

Alas, they had company and what she said was hard to attack.

‘I ought to take my leave,’ Doctor Brewer broke the tense silence. ‘I trust you will allow Mr Drummond plenty of rest and tranquillity. That is what he needs.’

The doctor shared an awkward look with Lord Alfred behind Florence’s back. He also asked Lord Alfred to see him out so he had no choice but to follow him out of the room, and, albeit reluctantly, so did Charlotte.

Satisfied and victorious, Florence had sat on the bed as soon as she got what she wanted.

*

In the foyer downstairs, introductions were made as Sir Robert, Doctor Brewer, Miss Drummond, and Lord Alfred congregated while they waited. Inevitably, the conversation turned on the outrageous act itself, the assassination attempt: who would do such a thing, why, why this way, and what his punishment would be.

‘I say he’ll hang, the sooner the better,’ Alfred remarked with cold vengeance boiling in his veins.

‘He might not. Humphries from the Old Bailey said hello just before I left the House,’ Sir Robert explained gravely. ‘He means to make an historic precedence by letting the criminal walk scot-free.’

‘On what grounds?’ Charlotte asked, outraged.

‘Insanity.’

‘No, that cannot be.’

‘Please, no need to be emotional,’ Sir Robert said to a perfectly controlled Miss Drummond.

‘No, Miss Drummond is right,’ Alfred stood up for her, much more emotional. ‘If he walks free, _that_ would be insane, not that vile man. Surely he should be locked up in an asylum with the key thrown away at the very least!’

‘We shall see the trial soon enough. It is scheduled for next week.’

‘Next week?! That was fast,’ Doctor Brewer remarked.

‘Uncommonly fast, and that’s coming from me, who generally believes in the system wholeheartedly, even if it is slower than desired at times,’ Sir Robert euphemised. ‘It is as if they have been waiting for such a case. Thank God Drummond will live.’

‘Hear, hear,’ Alfred agreed.

‘How long is Lady Florence going to take, do you think? I really must go to the house. If she’ll be a while more, perhaps we should sit down for another cup of—’

‘I should check on him. Gentlemen,’ Miss Drummond announced and went upstairs. She would drag Florence out of the room by her pretty bonnet if need be.

*

Upstairs, Edward cut to the chase at once.

‘I know what you want to ask of me, Florence,’ he told her, extremely vexed. He should have woken up in Alfred’s delightful arms this morning, after a repeat of their most passionate first full night together. Instead, he had been shot, he had had a rough night, he had suffered the indignity of having to have his sister’s support so as to relieve himself in the bathroom, and it was not yet 10 o’clock but Florence was already pestering him again!

‘I was going to ask how you feel, Edward,’ she asked, a less coldly than she treated the others.

Even so, when she reached out to brush his hair out of his eyes, he leaned out of her touch.

‘Could you please tell Lord Alfred to come back?’

‘Why?’

‘He has my medicine.’

She wasn’t budging. He sighed.

‘Why are you here, Florence?’ he asked.

‘Because I am your _fiancé_ , because I care very deeply about you, because it is my duty and I am eager to be reassured of your recovery, because…’

‘Because you want to make sure I am fit for your wedding.’

‘ _Our_ wedding.’

‘I know what you mean to do. If I do not agree to a date today, you will write to the Times anyway.’

‘I would do no such thing,’ she lied.

‘Prove it.’

‘Edward?’

‘I am agreeing to no date. Not today, not until I have fully recovered.’

‘But Edward…’

‘If I read it anyway in tomorrow’s papers I…’ Edward was so agitated he could not finish his sentence from a jolt of pain. He pushed through it with all his might. ‘Blasted…’

‘How can I help, Edward?’

‘Leave me to rest, that’s how—ach! You heard the doctor.’

‘I don’t mean to cause you harm, Edward. I only want what is the best for you,’ she said sincerely.

‘Then, please, just leave for now. As you see, I am in great discomfort.’

Florence couldn’t deny that. She had had her plans crossed by a whole host of unexpected events by then! It was ridiculous. First Edward’s career, then the sessions, a trip to France to which he forgot to invite her, as for several balls, then this incident at the worst time. True, she hadn’t been a perfect angel but it wasn’t her fault her parents wouldn’t let her make the biggest decision of her life! She should have been more careful herself if she couldn’t be honest.

But she did feel for Edward. This was a fight she couldn’t win, at least not that morning.

‘Alright. But may I call on you tomorrow? I would like to know you are well.’

‘I will be if I am granted some peace. In a way this incident is a blessing. I certainly regard it as such. Don’t you—ouch—don’t you see this is the result of impossible pressures on me from all sides?’

‘I thought it was the result of a madman with a gun.’

‘Madman?’

‘It’s in the Times. You are hailed as a hero, darling, whilst the gunman is said to be lunatic. The trial shall be held next week. I am surprised you didn’t know. Look,’ she said and found the column in Edward’s copy. ‘There.’

‘He will be tried as a lunatic?’ Edward thought aloud, putting two and two together. ‘Great. Just excellent.’

‘Why?’

‘Because according to a new bill in progress he might not get a gaol sentence, only the asylum.’

‘What does it matter where he is locked up as long as he is?’

‘Because it is irregular! People will talk.’

‘People always talk.’

‘I have always wished to stay out of centre stage. I want to be a successful politician, yes, but as a civil servant, for the sake of leaving a good impact in my wake not for fame. Alas, with this trial, my name will be dragged into an outrageous, controversial matter. I will never get a moment’s peace now. I will have lost my obscurity altogether.’

‘What’s wrong with that? You are the hero in this equation. Everyone loves you. They should know your name.’

‘I don’t want them to!’ Edward was on the verge of tears. Just when he needed to stay as unknown as possible to avoid an enormous scandal when he breaks off his four-year engagement, he was to become a celebrity. ‘Could you leave now? Please.’

Florence was affronted but there was something else in her eyes. A deep sort of sadness. Even Drummond softened, not keen on behaving like a cad.

‘Look, Florence, this incident, it wasn’t some lucky event to make my name known. It was the Heavens’ way of telling me I must take a break. We shall talk again, I promise, when I feel strong enough. I will send you a note when that day comes. But not sooner. I’ve had a shock. I am in a muddle.’

‘Muddle?’

She wanted to argue but she fought down her own stress and walked to the door.

‘Don’t be too long, Edward. I beg you. I need you. If you only knew how much.’

Charlotte stepped in just as Florence had left.

‘What did she want?’ she asked in hushed tones.

‘The usual,’ Edward replied darkly. ‘Never mind that I am incapable at present. She will walk down that aisle in a wedding dress even if I am in a nailed coffin at the end of it—argh, damnation!’ Edward’s hand shot to his wound. His muscles tended to tense when he got riled up, which was just the thing he was forbidden to do! He breathed to relax. ‘Besides, have you seen the Times? The shooter will walk free. He shall be made an example of, in a most inside out sort of way, with my name dragged into it all!’

‘I know, Sir Robert said.’

‘Sir Robert was here?’

‘Yes, I think he still is. Would you like me to call him up before they leave?’

‘No,’ Edward said a bit too quickly. ‘I don’t want to see him.’

‘Why not?’

‘Why?’

‘Because you worship him? Because you saved his life, you jumped in front of a bullet for him?’ she reasoned as if it was the most self-evident fact of life on par with “the sky is blue” or that “Edward liked to work.”

Edward avoided her eyes, silently cursing at his injury. Charlotte sensed he wasn’t saying something but she didn’t press that for now. She thought it best to touch upon more urgent matters now that she was alone with Edward and he wasn’t peeing.

‘You must see her point,’ she remarked.

‘Charlotte, are you well? Do _you_ need the doctor?’

‘I’m serious. Edward, I am on your side but this is getting ridiculous. Why don’t you just tell her you want to break it off? We can pay the Lothians, should they sue.’

‘I’ve been wanting to! Argh…’ Edward’s hand shot to the dressing on his wound. ‘But my name will be everywhere in the papers next week. It already is, look!’ Edward showed her the column and promptly cast aside the blasted newspaper. ‘I thought I could do it fairly quietly but not anymore. The scandal will be enormous.’

‘We can pay off the Times if need be.’

Edward bit his lip in guilt. ‘I want to do it with honour.’

‘Do it _in time_ ,’ she urged him sharply. ‘At least do it before the trial.’

Edward was nodding. ‘As ever, you are right. It is now or never.’

Charlotte eyed him pensively for a minute. The sounds of wheels and hooves on the cobblestones faded into the distance. Good. They were truly alone, save for Cecilia, and of course Lord Alfred.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asked very quietly, sensing her chance.

‘Tell you what?’

‘About Lord Alfred.’

‘What about him?’ Edward said as airily as he could, which did not work for a second.

‘Edward, you are a terrible liar and you must learn fast if journalists are about to storm this house.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean…’

‘Edward.’

‘I feel I must rest now…’

‘I found him sleeping by your side this morning. Your hand in his hand. Over your heart.’

Though he should have felt guilty, Edward’s heart felt warm and full.

‘He couldn’t deny it if he’d wanted to. Edward, I _know_. Or at least I can guess.’

‘It’s not like that…’

‘Isn’t it? You haven’t…’

Edward looked as guilty as if he had been found with his hand, legs, head in the cookie jar.

‘You know what, it’s not my business. I think I know you are not just sneaking into haystacks with him.’

‘Charlotte! …what do you know about haystacks?’

‘Never you mind what I know about it. But I think I am right. I don’t believe we have had a conversation in the past three years without you mentioning his name at least once. Good lord! It must be love.’

Edward did not deny that.

‘Not that he is disagreeable,’ Charlotte teased him further. ‘He is very… pretty and yet handsome at the same time. I did not imagine he would be your type but he seems a good match to you.’

‘Stop… are you punishing me for not telling you?’

‘I’m just teasing. You did not owe me, I just wish I had known. I knew there was something—you have been engaged to Florence for what, four years? What young man with someone like her as a bride does such a thing?’ she laughed to herself. ‘I know she was in Paris and then she was ill but even so. There are long engagements and then there are _long engagements_.’

Edward bit his lip guiltily. ‘I don’t know, Charlotte… I was afraid.’

‘That, I can understand. But, Edward, you’ve known about me and Cecilia for a good few months now,’ she lowered her voice even more, out of habit. ‘You _helped_ us.’

‘I didn’t know what I was helping you achieve when I agreed to her moving in.’

‘But once you did, it was your idea we should pretend she’s my lady’s maid so she wouldn’t be found by her family. I say! That I should have learnt that my brother has found love with his friend, just like I have, only because he has been brought here, bleeding, shot nearly fatally,’ she teared up, which made him want to move, which instantly resulted in another pang of pain for him and she tried to pull herself together. ‘I’m sorry. I must not agitate you. Look at me, not only supporting Florence but being exactly like her, giving you a headache!’

Edward smiled at that image. ‘I cannot imagine two more different women than you two, Charlotte.’

‘Can’t you?’ she challenged him, grinning. She grabbed the settee off the table and put it on her hair like a bonnet, while Edward’s blotting paper served as her fan. Charlotte batted her eyelashes and indeed put on all of Florence’s haughty, feminine mannerisms. ‘Ohhh, my dearest _fiancé_ is so handsome and rich, he will buy me all the dresses from Paris! Have I mentioned I have been to Paris?’

Edward could not stop laughing even if that was the absolute worst thing for his injury. ‘Stop, stop, Charlotte!’ he pleaded.

She stopped, for the sake of his health. ‘I cannot imagine what Lord Alfred thinks about all this.’

‘Lord Alfred is very tired of this,’ Alfred answered her question from the doorway. ‘They’re gone. Nice hat, Miss Drummond.’

She yanked the settee off her head with haste and stopped mucking about but Edward just cracked up again, immediately regretting it.

Alfred remembered the tiny vial in his pocket. He joined Edward on the bed and started concocting something on the nightstand.

‘Coffee?’ he offered.

Drummond took the cup gratefully.

‘Did Sir Robert find it strange to find you here?’ he asked tentatively.

Alfred frowned. ‘No. Whyever would he?’

‘Just because… well, you know what he’s…’

Edward tried to communicate something wordlessly but Alfred wasn’t picking it up.

‘Drink,’ he told him instead, and Edward raised his cup to his lips.

‘Have you heard the news?’ he asked.

He took a sip of coffee and frowned.

‘More sugar?’ Alfred asked knowingly and provided two generous spoons and a dash more milk. It went down better. ‘I have. This is a problem. I’m afraid you’re famous.’

Edward looked less than pleased about that. ‘We’ll have to act now.’

‘I agree.’

‘I don’t believe for a second that she won’t run to the Times today in spite of my request. She said something odd this time, something she has never said.’

‘What?’

‘That she needs me more than I know. It’s as if she is hiding something, something that is a motivation to her. And seeing as I am bedbound, you must make sure to find out what it is, and that she absolutely does not announce the engagement early anyway because I… oh… I just had a sudden turn… sorry… so, uh, where was I?’

Alfred watched him closely. ‘Drink some more. It’ll help.’

Edward didn’t need to be told twice. ‘Seriously, I would waste no time tracking her today.’

‘Do not worry. I have a plan.’

‘Really?’ Edward asked suddenly very brightly and enthusiastically.

Alfred smiled. ‘Yes, yes, my love. Look at me: I must return to the Palace to change anyway. Florence mistook me for the gardener!’

Edward giggled. And giggled. ‘The gardener! Oh, but, I felt no pain just then! I feel so much better!’

‘How wonderful!’ Alfred encouraged him. ‘Drink up, my love, before it goes cold.’

‘Yes! Mmh, I say, this is the most heavenly cup of coffee I have ever tasted. Crikey! Truly, superb! I feel as if its aromas were a melody, I can positively _listen_ to its taste… I feel most peculiar… Oh…’

Alfred took the cup away from Edward before he spilled it on the bed, then helped him recline on the soft cushions and pillows that he seemed to want to speak about as if a romantic ode was eager to leave his lips in beautiful sentences, until every word, every sound itself became a harmony he spoke yet more about and encouraged others to listen to the lights of the morning light.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Charlotte asked suspiciously.

Alfred smiled mischievously.

‘Nothing. Edward is fine,’ he said, making sure to tuck him in nicely. ‘As a matter of fact, he could not be feeling better.’

She did not buy that for a second. She went there to take a look at the vial by the coffee pot. Her eyes went wide when she read the label.

‘Laudanum!?’

Edward’s eyes bulged as well. ‘Is that what you gave me, Alfred?’ he asked and before he could get cross even a bit his expression was of utmost bliss—somewhat dazed but rather like the one he tended to wear in the very last moments before he… in the heat of passion, Alfred thought to himself privately, remembering their rather steamy encounters by night. ‘Alfred… you shouldn’t have… I feel… I feel…’

‘Good?’

‘Good,’ Edward sighed happily. ‘Truly, truly good.’

‘And your pains?’

‘What pains?’

Alfred chuckled. Charlotte was less amused and left the two of them to it. Cecilia was downstairs alone and she had plenty to do around the house.

Alfred guarded Edward while the full effects of the medicine flourished. He had taken some himself a couple of times a long time ago—recreationally, in his wild days with William—and he had seen its effects before, which were not as attractive from the outside as they were euphoric from the inside. However, Edward was just being adorable, occasionally talking of beds of flowers with thistles and a pond—he really was in his happy place. Alfred let him talk about his fancies that seemed so real to him, he read poetry to him, and even indulged him with kisses when he asked, careful not to let him get overzealous. A little went a long way anyway. The rapture he felt was immense at the best of times upon tasting Alfred’s lips but now it was magnified. It really was the most curious feeling. He kissed back languidly, his nerves quivering with every little touch. To Alfred’s world, each kiss might have lasted a few short seconds but to Edward it meant a sense of eternal bliss.

When Miss Drummond announced she had cleaned up—that was strange, she was always cleaning and serving, should not the housemaid do that?—Alfred was released to return to the Palace and take care of some business while Edward was resting. He knew just the person to find.

The plan was afoot: Florence must be stopped.


	11. Pulling Strings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred has been busy while Edward is recovering. Here he is, pulling strings in all directions, to fight for his love. Will the risk pay off? Can he even wrangle more than one happy ending out of his mission?

It was a quiet part of the day – either dawn or dusk, Edward could not tell yet. He took his time coming to, breathing deeply, in and out, no rush, before he opened his eyes properly.

It must have been the evening, he decided. He was judging this by the way the faint yellow and pink lights hit the crisp white façade of the townhouses on the opposite side of the street beyond his windows. He vaguely remembered having awfully curious dreams about colourful houses, dancing houses, sunshine, flowers, golden hair, Alfred was there… Alfred was always there.

He felt a weight on his body.

Looking down, he was filled with warmth to match his room, which was swimming in the late summer’s half-light, the golden glow caressing the deep burgundy of his wallpapers and bookshelves and falling on the bed where he was resting not alone.

Alfred was with him, his head lain on Edward’s thigh over the covers. He was fast asleep despite being almost fully dressed. His frock coat had been thrown over the back of a chair along with his tie but he had such a relationship with Edward by now that he knew he could make himself comfortable. Indeed, comfortable enough to nap with him at the end of the day, curled up crossways on Edward’s bed, hugging a still open volume of poetry whose now bent pages were fluttering every time he exhaled languidly.

Edward smiled to himself. Alfred must have fallen asleep whilst reading. Reading _to him_ , perhaps.

His theory that it was the evening was reinforced by the soft sounds of carriages, pedestrians, and horses. Had it been the morning, after all, they would have had more urgency. He could tell it had been raining from the grainy echo of footsteps on cobblestones and if he squinted he could just about make out traces of drying raindrops on the glass.

He tested his body. God, he was stiff in every muscle. How he wished he could join the street crowd outdoors, to walk, to move, to feel alert. For now, he knew he must be careful.

He paid close attention to his wound, testing it when breathing and stretching the sleep out of his bones. He tried to move very gingerly. He had a feeling he would not feel quite so dizzy if he tried to get up. He didn’t attempt it for Alfred’s sake. It was enough that he could watch him, though he could not stop himself from the irresistible pleasure of reaching out to caress those golden blond locks of his love.

He had been so careful not to disturb him but Alfred stirred easily, presumably because his sleep had been lighter than it seemed from all the anxiety surrounding the incident, Edward thought somewhat guiltily.

Alfred inhaled heartily as one does when coming back down to Earth from their dreams. When his lashes fluttered and he opened his eyes he immediately smiled up at Edward without getting off his thigh.

‘I didn’t mean to wake you up,’ Edward whispered to him softly.

Alfred shook his head the tiniest bit to say that was alright. With lazy effort, he pushed himself up on his elbows, bending his book even more by accident.

‘Oh, no… I’ll replace it,’ he apologised, trying to mend the little book that had fallen victim to his nap.

‘Don’t, it will remind me of you and this moment,’ Edward told him.

Alfred smiled at him sweetly. ‘How do you feel?’

‘I feel as if I have been asleep for a week.’

Alfred chuckled. ‘That’s because you have.’

Edward made a face of disbelief but Alfred was quite serious, and amused. His hand shot to his wound. Could it truly have been that grave? How close had he come to death?

‘Do not worry. You are healing well. You were fed some soup and water but you need to get your strength back. Are you thirsty or hungry now?’

‘A little,’ Edward admitted after digesting the fact he had missed an entire week of his life.

‘Have some grapes, the doctor says it’s good for blood loss,’ Alfred said and sat up more to snatch a bunch of beautiful, big, red grapes off a plate on Edward’s bedside table. As he reached over, he had to lean over Edward, which he deliberately did so close he could have kissed him but he preferred to tease him just yet. Instead of a kiss, therefore, Edward got fed a grape, though not without teasing Alfred back by biting his fingers gently.

Alfred giggled to himself and stole a grape for himself, too. Not until after Edward had eaten a few more did he finally give him a kiss. He then settled back comfortably on the bed leaning against Edward’s propped-up legs, from where he could keep feeding him in the fading, golden light of the evening.

‘This is better than my dreams,’ Edward said happily. ‘Were you here the whole time?’

Alfred grinned.

‘No,’ he surprised Edward. ‘I went to Paris and back.’

‘Wh… what?’

‘Really, I did. I got back only just this morning and I have been putting out fires all over London since. That’s why you found me asleep on your volume of Coleridge. I’m afraid I am rather exhausted.’

‘But… why?’

‘To find someone. It was all because of Florence.’

‘Florence?’

‘Yes. Her. She is a piece of work, I must say. However, the good news is the wedding is next month.’

‘What!?’

***

_One Week Earlier…_

Alfred had left Edward to his opium-induced daydreams and returned to Buckingham Palace. He bathed and changed into his own, proper, day clothes and hurried back to Her Majesty’s study to report on the news. She would have heard about it from Sir Robert and from the newspapers but it was natural that he should have been summoned. What surprised him was to find his father in there.

‘Papa! I had no idea you were at the Palace,’ he rejoiced and greeted his father happily.

‘I have been summoned in the middle of the session but it matters not. I’ve better things to do than listen to Tory backbenchers baby-wailing in the aftermath of it all. How’s Drummond?’

Prince Ernst joined them just then, asking the same.

‘He survives, your grace,’ Alfred reported after a bow. ‘More than that, he is truly well. Papa, I cannot thank you enough for what you did.’

‘Just what had to be done.’

‘And is he not in terrible pain?’ Ernst asked, pulling a face at the thought of it.

‘I slipped laudanum in his coffee when he wasn’t looking,’ Alfred admitted, and both of the other men laughed heartily.

Her Majesty and Prince Albert entered, along with the Lady Portman, the Duchess of Sutherland, of Buccleuch, and Miss Coke. Lord Anglesey and Lord Alfred recounted to them their side of last night’s events as concisely as possible, avoiding the gruesome details for the sake of the ladies, as well as Drummond’s happy state after he was given the medicine.

When he was dismissed, Ernst approached Alfred on his way out of the study.

‘I don’t suppose you have a drop left for me?’ he asked discretely.

Alfred was saved by Harriet swanning past them and completely distracting the prince.

‘Have you had lunch, Alfred?’ Lord Anglesey turned to him the next second. ‘Or must you stay here?’

‘I was actually on my way back to Drummond’s house. I thought I might eat there.’

‘Really?’

‘Why not?’ Alfred asked, apprehensive of having said something wrong or suspicious.

‘Just because that sister of his, while she reminds me a bit of your mother with her headstrongness and unflinching manners, she did not seem too hospitable. She didn’t even ask if we wanted any brandy last night, let alone dinner.’

‘Oh!’ Alfred laughed to himself, relieved. ‘You may be right. She does not like entertaining.’

‘Lunch, then?’

‘On the condition your friends will not be there—I am up to here with talk of the Corn Laws.’

‘I promise.’

‘Would you wait for me outside?’ Alfred asked, having ideas as he saw the ladies go into the music room at the far end of the hallway. ‘I shan’t be long.’

‘I can’t very well stop any of my sons from chasing after skirts, not with my romantic _resumé_.’

Alfred feigned a laddish sort of laugh and hurried after the ladies. Once in the room, he tried to remain as discrete as possible until he reached her.

‘Miss Coke,’ he said softly to her. ‘Could I please have a word? Over here?’

She looked between him and her aunt rather scared. There was no objection from the Duchess. She stood up from the couch, smoothed her voluminous, yellow dress, and followed Lord Alfred to a private corner of the room, albeit still in sight of their obligatory chaperones.

‘Miss Coke, do you remember offering a listening ear to me not long ago?’

‘I do,’ she replied, still terrified of what was to come and how much this conversation was going to motivate her aunt to combine two and two and make five. Still, he looked rather shaken up and like he had barely slept. It was the least she could do to hear him out. ‘I am listening.’

‘Well, I could use a friend today. A friend who will not judge me, which I have a feeling you will not.’

‘Is this about Mr Drummond?’

Alfred’s heart skipped a beat. ‘How did you know?’

‘What is your question?’

‘Not so much a question as a request,’ Alfred took a deep breath, grateful that Harriet was playing a rather vigorous piece that surely drowned out their words, probably because Prince Ernst walked in. ‘Miss Coke, I would like you to help me break off Drummond’s engagement to Lady Florence.’

Alfred’s heart was beating fast while he waited for her reaction. Would she cry for her aunt? Would she run and tell Florence? Would she turn her back on him and his friendship?

She smiled.

‘I suspected you might ask me that sooner or later,’ she said.

Alfred was absolutely shocked.

‘Miss… Miss Coke…’

‘I suppose this is not just your request but that of Mr Drummond himself? Yours and his both?’

Her question confirmed what he feared: she knew something but how much? He dared not answer.

‘Your Majesty, Lord Alfred and I shall just take a turn in the White Drawing Room to see the new Turner seascape,’ she announced and they backed out of the room, into the adjoining salon until they were standing in front of a misty seascape displayed on an easel. They were still clearly visible there but there was no way they would be overheard anymore.

‘Miss Coke,’ Alfred approached the subject, pretending to observe the painting whilst being very aware of the Duchess’s eyes on him from the other room. He angled himself to make sure she wasn’t reading his lips. ‘Did you… How much do you… What have you…?’

‘Yes, Lord Alfred, I also prefer Mr Turner’s earlier seascapes!’ she said loudly and then lowered her voice: ‘I saw Mr Drummond k-kiss you by the lake in Scotland,’ she whispered covertly to put him out of his misery at the cost of turning bright red in the cheeks.

Alfred gulped. He had been through a lot but never discovery, particularly not by such an inoffensive creature as this girl in front of him. Who said he had run out of firsts to have? True, kissing by a lake out in the open is was not exactly the most discrete thing he had ever done but there it was. He had got caught up in the moment.

‘Indeed, Miss Coke,’ Alfred spoke up loudly, ‘Mr Turner’s brushstrokes express the turmoil of emotions symbolised by the crashing waves, the ship is us, careening helplessly…’

‘Have you… you know…’ she asked timidly, not sure how to continue.

‘Ye-es?’ Alfred whispered.

‘You know…’

‘Wh-what?’ Now it was Alfred’s turn to blush.

‘…given your heart to him?’ she whispered barely audibly.

Alfred mentally slapped himself for assuming something quite different that she might be curious about. She was just so sweet, he broke out in a bashful smile. A bit of eyelash batting never hurt either.

‘I’m afraid I have, Miss Coke,’ he confessed like a dewy-eyed princess.

She loved it, though. He felt like a star crossed lover on stage before her eager audience. Good. Now, onto the plan.

‘Alas, you see, my heart is breaking and so is Drummond’s because he remains engaged to Lady Florence.’

‘Oh, yes, I see,’ Miss Coke sympathised gravely. ‘How awful!’

‘I would never have presumed to come between them. It would have been terribly dishonourable, even if she wasn’t your dear friend and, well, I weren’t a man. It all seemed hopeless. I resigned myself to being a supportive friend to him always and I would have been content to leave it at that. But, Miss Coke, in Scotland, I learned that Drummond loves me, too. I promise, I never said or done anything to prompt him,’ Alfred lied just there.

‘No, of course you wouldn’t.’

Alfred willed himself to tear up. ‘But _he_ told me. He kissed me. He loves _me_ , not Florence. And I love him. More than my own life.’

There was no more acting required there. Alfred spoke from his heart, and he had a listening ear.

‘I know we cannot have a proper married life, he and I. I am not deluded, nor reckless, if you can believe that. Perhaps some say it is wrong but I know this: that our love is real and that even if I cannot give him what Lady Florence can, I cannot watch him enter into a loveless marriage.’

‘Say no more, I completely understand.’

‘Do you? Because you could help us more than anyone in the world, Miss Coke… Wilhelmina.’

She smiled proudly at the intimate, brotherly addressing there. Lord Alfred secretly rejoiced.

‘I do fear Florence’s vengeance,’ he continued with the bluest, wateriest puppy eyes he could manage. ‘I dread to think what she will do when he breaks off the engagement.’

‘You have spoken to him? He said he means to break it off?’

‘He is determined to, yes. You see, having nearly… last night, he is very clear on what matters in his life and what does not. He wants it this way. You know how gallant he is. I feel we ought to respect it, even if it may cause a bit of a scandal. Not to mention that he’ll break her heart.’

Miss Coke frowned. Was he losing her?

‘No, he won’t,’ she said.

‘He will. He will break it up. And it’ll be the talk of society.’

‘No, that’s good, he should, and I know, though I think it will only be news until someone loses a fortune at the races or has a Winterhalter painted of them with their hair down. But he won’t break her heart.’

‘Miss Coke, I know I am partial to Drummond’s charms but would you not be at least a little vexed if someone like him promised to marry you and then abandoned you?’

‘Vexed, perhaps. But heartbroken? Not so. I may not be an expert on this but even I know you cannot break a heart that is not yours to break.’

‘Miss Coke? I’m not sure I follow.’

‘She does not love him.’

Alfred expected to surprise Miss Coke when he began this conversation but he did not expected the reverse. He was wrong.

‘She doesn’t?’ he asked, aghast and struggling to keep his voice down. ‘So that is _not_ the reason why she insists on the marriage?’

‘No, it is not.’

‘Is it money?’

‘Hardly. The Lothians’ fortune is tremendous.’

‘Then why? Why must she!?’ Alfred noticed himself as he was being louder than he should have just when Harriet had finished playing. ‘Forgive me.’

‘You are not disagreeing about the Turner, I hope?’ Victoria asked from the other room. ‘Albert loves it so!’

‘No, indeed not, ma’am,’ Alfred tried to smooth this over, smiling vacantly as if nothing was ailing him. ‘I merely wondered why she, the ship, is so awkwardly tilted. The way it seems to want to topple over into the sea is most unsettling.’

‘Oh, Lord Alfred, you were always so affected by art. Duchess, please play another piece.’

Alfred and Wilhelmina waited until Harriet resumed her piano practice loudly enough.

‘Forgive me, Wilhelmina,’ he whispered covertly again.

‘No, please, Lord Alfred, you are right to feel the injustice of it,’ she whispered back anxiously. ‘I may consider Florence my friend, but friends ought to tell one if they are making a mistake, is that not so? Besides, God help me but I believe you are more deserving of Mr Drummond’s heart than her by very, very far. I haven’t said anything to her or you as it is not my business. Until now. You are my friend and I will help you. Florence mustn’t marry Mr Drummond. It is not him that she loves.’

‘Thank you Miss C—wait, is there someone else she does love?’

She nodded.

‘Do tell.’ Alfred wished he had a glass of port for this gossip.

‘I only know there is someone, someone she met after she had already accepted Mr Drummond’s proposal. And that her parents did not allow her to change her mind.’

‘But who?’

‘I’m sorry, I do not know.’

‘Is it a gentleman at least?’

‘Someone she met in Paris, we think.’

‘We?’

‘That is all I know. You must ask the Duchess of Sutherland for more. I have a private notion she is in possession of more facts. Of course, she can dissemble better than I. That is probably the reason why Florence has trusted her with her secrets, not me. Or because she is rather more fashionable than I.’

‘Harriet?’

Harriet. The Duchess of Sutherland who, even at that moment, was pounding at the piano keys mercilessly from grief and the pain of a love that could not be.

The solution was getting warmer and warmer but Lord Alfred also felt discouraged. More problems presented themselves immediately: he had known Harriet since they were children, but he had never been able to tell whether she knows of his proclivities. She certainly had no idea about him and Edward; he had heard her on many occasions how lucky Florence was and seen her smirk behind her fan about Drummond’s sizeable… _fortune_ , which awaited the bride. He could not be sure she would be supportive of a plan to break up this most handsome match.

‘What’s the matter, Lord Alfred?’

‘Nothing is exactly the matter. I just wouldn’t quite know how to broach the subject with her.’

‘She tells me you had the same dancing master. Surely, she is an old friend of yours.’

‘That may be so, but nowhere near as much a confidant of mine as yourself. Life took us into very different directions for a long time.’

Yes, Alfred learned how to ride, fight, shoot, and gather the juiciest gossip from men’s bedchambers, while Harriet got married and had six children.

Miss Coke smiled and patted his arm reassuringly. ‘Do not worry, I shall help you. We will find a way.’

Alfred’s eyes were full of genuine gratitude. He was determined to do this step by step and not give up. If the next key to the solution was talking to Harriet, so be it.

‘Thank you. Thank you so much. You have already been of immense help. I will have to think hard on how to repay your kindness. Now, I think I should go before your aunt murders me with her looks.’

‘Are you going back to visit Mr Drummond?’

‘I am. But not before I lunch with my father.’

‘Oh, how delightful! Send him my best wishes.’

‘I will. He deserves all the praise, Papa does. He saved Drummond’s life last night.’

‘Then do not make him wait. We shall catch up later.’

‘That’d be splendid! Truly, thank you, Wilhelmina, thank you!’ Alfred said and in his happiness he kissed the girl’s cheek like a brother and practically skipped out of the drawing room.

He smiled to himself even when he got into his father’s carriage. Surely, the ladies would have forgotten about their scales and swarmed Miss Coke with questions about Lord Alfred. This would not only test her confidentiality—which, he had no way of taking granted—but begin a round of rumours that would come in handy when he next caught up with Florence. Let them talk.

Next, lunch with Lord Anglesey.

Alfred waited until dessert to broach the subject. His father was always more pliable after sherry and cake.

‘I met Lady Florence Kerr today.’

‘Oh?’

‘She is Drummond’s fiancée.’

‘Oh?’

‘It’s all unannounced yet. Nothing official.’

‘Oh.’

‘She came to visit him this morning. It wasn’t a bright idea from her.’

‘Oh?’

‘First of all, because I was wearing Drummond’s clothes as mine had got blood all over them, she mistook me for the gardener,’ Alfred told his father as well, to amuse him first.

‘Ha! I bet you loved that.’

‘Hm. And then she pushed into Drummond’s room while the doctor was still in there examining him.’

‘Hm.’

‘Doctor Brewer praised your work, you know. He lost his father at Waterloo.’

‘Ah, that damned place.’

‘Exactly. He did not think it such a splendid idea for Lady Florence to be there either, and anyone praising you is someone I agree with.’

‘Are you flattering me, son? What do you want?’

‘Just telling you what the doctor said, Papa,’ Alfred said airily, checking flattery off his list as well. Now, into battle. ‘She didn’t like that. And then she berated you and Mama’s marriage and schooled us all on etiquette just to be left alone with him. But Drummond defended our family’s honour in a heartbeat, at great pains to his injury as her insistence on discussing their wedding vexed him so.’

‘Oh?’

‘I mean, what would you have done if Mama had started pestering you about, say, Christmas presents the day after your leg was…’

‘Oh, no, no, no. A man needs rest at such times, particularly a gentleman like Drummond.’

‘She isn’t as smart as you, Papa.’

‘Hm.’

And now, Alfred washed down a piece of strawberry tart with a sip of sherry and aimed for the kill.

‘I also found out that she is in love with someone else.’

Lord Anglesey dropped his dessert spoon on his plate, splattering chocolate mousse everywhere.

‘How do you know this, my son?’

‘Miss Coke and Harriet are very good friends with Lady Florence. They confided in me about this matter, seeing as I am Drummond’s best friend. It is only natural they should want to save their own friend from a lifetime of heartache, and so do I. Imagine being married to someone whilst you love someone else—oh, but, what am I saying to _you_ , Papa?’

Alfred heard himself, thinking he deserved applause at the Gaiety. All his words were true but he delivered them at the right time in the right way.

‘But, Alfred, that is horrible.’

‘So you feel it too, that such a match ought not be allowed to happen?’

‘Well, of course, I agree! But, oh, how sad for the lad, Drummond—a shot, his attacker potentially walking free, and then a lost bride!’

‘No, no, no, it is not sad. He loves another, too.’

‘By God!’ Henry exclaimed, so vehemently the passing waiter jumped. ‘Apologies… Alfred…’

‘Papa, if I were to… do something so as to prevent such a sorry match… would you perhaps help me?’

‘What are you suggesting, Alfred?’ Henry asked carefully.

‘No need to get anxious, Papa. I only need one thing: the solicitor that helped you and Mama divorce. If he could achieve that feat, surely he can help Drummond, too.’

Henry abandoned his delicious cake and pondered that carefully over his glass of sherry.

‘Why does Drummond need a solicitor?’ he asked finally.

‘Why?’

‘You say this is an unannounced engagement, which neither of the parties want? It requires a breakfast, it should not require a solicitor.’

‘Alas, this one may. The Lothians and the Drummonds have treated this engagement as a joint bank account for years.’

‘Years? They’ve been engaged for years but have not announced it?’

‘There were many factors—age, Drummond’s education, Florence’s travels, then her illness—’

‘What illness?’

‘I don’t know,’ Alfred shrugged, unconcerned about Florence’s health. ‘And then Drummond got promoted and travelled with the court oft—’

‘What sort of illness would prevent a wedding?’ Henry asked himself again, not listening.

Alfred rolled his eyes. ‘I do not know! I never asked. Now, focus, Papa: so if we get your solicitor to examine the transactions and assess the financial ties—’

‘Does Harriet know about that at all? Or this Miss Coke you mentioned? About Lady Florence’s illness?’

‘Yes,’ Alfred stopped, feeling interrupted. ‘Probably. I have no idea. Now—’

‘Then you must ask them about it.’

Alfred made a face.

‘Why?’ he demanded, getting a bit annoyed if he was honest. ‘She seemed perfectly healthy to me. Glowing, even!’

Henry went pale.

‘Son. Ask Harriet about this illness. You’ll thank me later.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Alfred was so confused and frustrated. He could not care less about this right now. ‘It would be a waste of time!’

‘If it’s nothing, I shall give you my solicitor’s name and address, I promise. Now, the benches await me. Tell Drummond I wish him a speedy recovery.’

Alfred had no chance to argue anymore and none of this was something he felt safe discussing on the way out the club.

That did not go quite as planned but it was definitely not the end of the road. Outside the club, Alfred debated which way to go next.

He was going to pay a visit to Florence to make sure she was at home and not composing a letter to the Times but he had intended to do that whilst armed with the contact details of his father’s lawyer. He didn’t think it would make any difference but he intended to take Henry’s advice and pursue more information about this illness of Florence’s that once delayed the engagement but he knew the ladies of the bedchamber were busy until dinner. At the same time, his heart was definitely tugging him into Drummond’s direction more and more with every passing hour.

Twenty minutes later, he was knocking on a crisp white door.

‘Miss Drummond?’ Alfred asked in surprise. ‘What a lovely surprise! I thought your housemaid would open the door.’

Her expression went stony. ‘She’s on her break. If you take issue with me coming to the door, you are welcome to stand out there until she can get it.’

Alfred was so confused. He felt like he had been scolded by a schoolteacher.

‘I only meant to… I…’

‘Yes?’ she demanded.

‘I just wanted to apologise to your staff for the mark on the door,’ Alfred said very timidly and pointed to a red smudge under the knocker. ‘It seems… Drummond’s blood… When Papa knocked last night… Let me arrange for its renovation… if… if I may.’

Alfred was afraid of her striking him or something but she softened, realising he meant no harm.

‘Oh. That is… that’s kind of you. Forgive me, Lord Alfred,’ she said in a much less argumentative tone. ‘I am in a bit of a mood just because of Edward’s valet today. He will not stop pestering Cecilia for help with sewing. Do come in. I shan’t bite your head off, I promise.’

‘Do you?’ Alfred jested sceptically and entered.

‘Edward is sleeping… I think. Whatever you gave him, I feel we should keep it to a minimum in the future. Not because I am against a bit of amusement but I’m afraid I know far more about your affair now than I ever wanted to. It makes him speak… a lot. I couldn’t even let his valet in the room until he stopped going on and on about… well, whatever you did in Scotland left quite an impression on my brother. I have not let any journalists enter at all.’

‘Good thinking,’ Alfred agreed, grinning to himself. ‘Perhaps we should switch from laudanum to something less drastic. Something that makes him sleep. And, of he is asleep at present, I would like to have a word with you before I go up, if I may. I promise I shan’t want any coffee or tea or anything.’

Charlotte relented. ‘Very well. Come into the drawing room.’

In the drawing room, Alfred was surprised to see the housemaid, Cecilia, casually taking her break by playing cards on the chaise longue.

‘Charlotte, finally, I cannot stand not peeking at your cards for a second more—Oh, Lord Alfred!’

Cecilia stood up and curtseyed so quickly that half the deck went flying on the carpet.

‘H-how jolly,’ Alfred commented politely despite himself. ‘Is that Whist?’

‘A version of it,’ Charlotte said, taking Alfred to the couch while Cecilia collected the cards. ‘We’ve had to tailor it for two players.’

‘Lucky I looked in—together with the valet, we could make four.’

The ladies did not laugh, not genuinely.

‘Cecilia, could you please give us a minute?’ Charlotte asked her.

The housemaid was reluctant. ‘M-must I, Miss Drummond?’ she asked. Alfred tried not to seem shocked but he was fairly sure such a question would have been a household servant’s last words in any other house. Not here, for some reason.

‘Just for a bit, I promise,’ Charlotte replied rather apologetically.

‘But that odious valet of Edward’s is downstairs…’ she whispered only half-discretely to Miss Drummond. Alfred didn’t know what to think of it so he just pretended to have gone deaf for a minute.

‘I know, I’m sorry, Cecilia…’

Alfred was struck by another idea. ‘As a matter of fact, Miss Drummond, perhaps it would be better if your housemaid stayed here. This might concern her as well.’

Charlotte was on the defensive again. ‘Why, what do you want form us?’

‘Just a few questions about Florence,’ Alfred told them quickly before he angered the lioness of the house again.

Although they were suspicious, upon his invitation, both Charlotte and Cecilia joined Alfred around the coffee table.

‘Correct me if I am wrong, Miss Drummond,’ he began right away, ‘but I got the impression this morning that we share in a sense of apprehension about Lady Florence. Perhaps even caution.’

‘I cannot stand her, never have, and nor can you, Alfred,’ Charlotte stated straightforwardly.

‘Quite.’

‘You will be wondering how to prevent their marriage,’ she guessed very correctly. ‘You told Edward you had a plan. Well? Are we to be made a part of this grand plan?’

‘Actually, some brandy would be lovely for this.’

‘Behind you, everything is in the globe. Pour me a Scotch, too, will you?’ Charlotte said without moving a finger, and shaking her head at Cecilia when she meant to serve the drinks.

Alfred catered for himself and the ladies out of the enormous, painted, oak globe of the world that opened at the equator, and started pacing up and down.

‘Tell you what,’ he said, observing the ladies with as much suspicion as they him. ‘I’ll tell you what I know and you’ll tell me what you know.’

‘That sounds like an agreeable deal, Lord Alfred,’ Charlotte spoke for both of them.

‘Splendid. Right. Here it goes. I know Florence is neither after Edward’s money nor his status. I also know that above all she is not in love with him. In fact, I know she loves another. A Frenchman, apparently. Is any of this news to you?’

‘Yes,’ Charlotte said.

‘No,’ Cecilia said at the same time.

Charlotte looked at her in surprise. ‘Cecilia?’

The housemaid turned to her guiltily, her freckly cheeks as red as her curls. ‘I thought you knew.’

‘Knew what?’ Alfred demanded.

‘I only knew she didn’t love Edward—that much is obvious to anyone who spends enough time around them—but I had no idea another man was in the picture! Florence and I are not exactly sisterly to one another,’ Charlotte confessed. ‘Cecilia?’

The housemaid sipped a bit of her brandy before she replied a little anxiously. ‘Yes, Lady Florence is in love with another gentleman. He is Irish, not French but he has lived in Paris for the past ten years at least and that is where they must have met.’

‘But what is this gentleman called?’

‘I do not know that, Lord Alfred. I mean my lord,’ Cecilia corrected herself. ‘I did find a handkerchief with the initials “O. W.” that Lady Florence’s lady’s maid came here to collect one evening. She was really rather anxious that it ought not to get lost or else Florence would strangle her—her words, not mine. I gathered all this from her.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me this?’ Charlotte asked her, aghast.

‘I didn’t think it would matter. Some lady’s maid’s gossip, isn’t it? I am sorry, my lo-lady.’

Alfred’s ears perked up… really, the conduct between Charlotte and her maid was most unusual.

‘But then why does she want to marry Edward so much?’ Charlotte asked Alfred to distract him.

‘My thoughts exactly,’ Alfred said, focusing again. ‘It is my understanding Florence spent some time ill in the past, which prolonged the engagement?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Well? What was this great illness of hers?’

The ladies shared a glance. ‘I don’t know,’ Charlotte replied. ‘She never talks about it but then we never really talk about anything.’

‘Do you at least remember how long this illness lasted?’

‘Months,’ Charlotte replied, raking her memory. ‘But I don’t know a whole lot about it as I was still living in Scotland when I wasn’t here for the season. You should ask Edward… when he comes back to his right mind.’

‘Hm, that will not be soon enough.’

Alfred continued to pace up and down the drawing room, thinking. Why, why did his father suggest this was a matter of importance?

He stopped dead in his tracks when an idea came to him, one he could not believe for himself, let alone voice aloud.

‘Ladies, we must find this man,’ he announced with determination without further ado. ‘Cecilia, was it? I believe we must send you with a message to the Palace.’

‘Why?’ Charlotte stood, protective as ever of her housemaid. ‘Why can’t you take the message? You live there.’

‘It should seem as authentic as possible. May I use this writing desk?’

Not two minutes later, he handed two tiny and very tightly sealed notes to Cecilia and told her to hand the one addressed to “P. E.” to a page boy called Brodie and the one addressed to “H” to a lady’s maid called Skerrett, no one else.

Then, he went upstairs to check on Edward, who was sleeping as peacefully and beautifully as a fairy tale prince. He sat with him until dinnertime, when his court duties called him.

He tried to remain as invisible as possible throughout the courses, watching two of the court’s love-struck members covertly. He didn’t want to get overconfident but they did seem excited about something and he thought he saw very meaningful glances shared over the roast pheasants.

He excused himself to retire earlier than usual, found himself a hiding place, and waited.

Prince Ernst was pacing up and down his room, getting through a bottle of brandy to numb his anxiety. Someone else entered and he froze.

‘I did not think you would really come,’ he whispered, his voice full of passion and longing.

‘I didn’t think you would ask,’ Harriet replied in the dark, just as excited.

‘I wouldn’t have dared.’

‘But I am glad you did.’

‘I did what?’

‘You asked me to come here tonight.’

‘I did no such thing… my love, your note said you will come and I waited.’

‘Ernst, I came because of your note.’

‘No, _your_ note—’

‘Alright, that’ll suffice,’ Lord Alfred said, appearing as if from nowhere. He dusted himself off—that linen cupboard where he had been crouching for nearly twenty minutes was in need of wallpapering on this inside.

‘Lord Alfred!?’ Harriet jumped, making sure her cloak was covering all of what Alfred could only assume was only her underwear and corset.

‘Yes, it was me. I sent you both the notes. Fooled you!’

‘But what is the meaning of this?’ Ernst jumped at his throat at once.

‘I promise I shall be out of your hair in five minutes if you cooperate. Now, I could tell the whole world about this midnight encounter…’

‘Which you orchestrated, Alfred!’ Harriet pointed out very angrily. ‘How could you? We are friends!’

‘Yes, we are. And it matters not that I orchestrated it, _you_ still came. It’s obvious how you two have felt for years, it was time you did something about it. Now, I could be an awful cad and rouse the palace so that your shame would bear many, many, many witnesses. Prince Ernst would no doubt have to travel home at once, and Harriet, you might have to say goodbye to being Mistress of the Robes forever. However,’ Alfred continued before they started attacking or pleading or whatever. ‘I will do no such thing if you also speak nothing of what I am about to ask of you.’

‘Lord Alfred, I cannot—’

‘Shh, Ernst. What do you want, Alfred?’

‘What is the full name of the man Lady Florence is in love with?’

‘I don’t understand,’ Ernst said, ‘Isn’t that Drummond? Her fiancé? You know him.’

‘No,’ Harriet said, catching on quickly. ‘Florence is in love with someone else. How do you know about this? Why do you need to know this, Alfred?’

‘That is my business,’ Alfred replied, standing his ground.

‘You don’t know what you’re meddling with.’

‘Still, I am just so curious. Silly me.’

‘I can’t tell you until you tell me.’

‘Are you in the position to bargain?’ Alfred second-guessed for them aloud.

Harriet and Ernst shared a dark look. He had a point. They were defeated. She had no choice but to turn to Alfred:

‘His name is Oscar Walsh. But you will not find him in London.’

‘Paris?’

‘Perhaps. He may be in his chateau in the country at this time of the year as he has a vast vineyard.’

‘Where?’

‘Why do you need to know, Alfred?’ she demanded with more insistence. ‘Why ruin Florence’s chances now?’

‘Because I am not going to let her ruin Edward’s life!’ Alfred burst out with far more fervour than called for.

He sensed they saw through him a bit more. He never lost his decorum like this. Never.

‘I just need an address,’ he requested in a more gentlemanly manner now. ‘I promise I will try to get her a happy ending as well, if that pleases you. Please, Harriet. For old times’ sake.’

‘What does he mean?’ Ernst asked her, not without an edge of jealousy.

‘Nothing of that sort, Ernst,’ Harriet shushed him without wanting to explain more.

Harriet may have been tutting and huffing and puffing and muttering about the unfairness of this but she copied out an address she believed would lead to Mr Walsh. Alfred checked and pocketed the piece of paper victoriously.

‘Lord Alfred,’ Ernst said slowly, holding up his hands as if he had been being held at gunpoint. ‘Are you… and Drummond…?’ he asked, the cogs working in his mind and his hands nearly gesturing something obscene. Harriet, also, looked at Alfred with recognition in her big, brown, Bambi eyes.

Alfred produced a small vial, threw it to Ernst, and raised his finger to his lips in a plea for silence and secrecy from both.

He swept out of Ernst’s bedroom, returned to his own suite only briefly in order to write a note to Wilhelmina, pack a change of clothes and change into his uniform, and then ran right down to the east wing where the Horse Guards were on night duty.

He picked two of them on the basis of their French skills. They were on a boat to Calais by dawn.

When four days later, Alfred was taking a stroll on the deck of a boat back from Calais to London, this time with three companions, he did wonder whether the most challenging part of his excursion to Paris was a) tracking down the elusive Mr Walsh, b) staying so far away for so long from his beloved Edward when he was so vulnerable and injured and probably in some pain, or c) pretending that he was a loving, caring, and loyal friend of Lady Florence’s, who was very concerned about her wellbeing as she has been ill and as a confidant of hers he could not possibly forgive himself if he hadn’t moved mountains to bring her true love back to her in case these were her final days.

Or whether it was all moral at all. However, they say all is fair in love and war and Alfred wasn’t sure he wasn’t playing at both here.

The next morning, he took extra care with his outfit before the footman announced her in the Blue Drawing Room.

‘Lord Alfred,’ Florence said flatly by way of a greeting.

‘Lady Florence,’ Alfred replied with the tiniest bow.

‘I see you have changed,’ she commented, taking in his clothes. Since she could not criticise them, she remained silent.

‘I’m sorry to have given an inelegant first impression as regards my appearance. All my clothes had got soaked with blood the night before. My priority was to make certain Drummond was well. Alas, perhaps you have different priorities than I.’

She ignored him. ‘I have come to see Miss Coke. Do you know where she is?’

‘Just in the music room down the hall.’

‘Could you walk me there?’

‘But of course,’ he said and pretended to be agreeable, only to pull away his arm the very last second. ‘Perhaps just a word before we join Miss Coke.’

She sighed. ‘Of course,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Just because this is your home ground.’

‘Thank you,’ Alfred quipped, smiling, as if he wasn’t about to drop a bomb. ‘How far along are you?’

He had been waiting for this moment for days and days. He watched her brilliant, bright eyes widen in panic, those full lips of hers gape in shock, and the rosy blush leave her cheeks in an instant.

‘Is it your first time or was your “illness” already… with Mr Walsh?’

She nearly fainted so he got over his disgust and helped her sit on a chair, flowery just like her dress and bonnet. He did not understand Mr Walsh’s taste but as he was his key to a happy life with Edward, he tried not to think about that now.

He gave her time. He was enjoying the sight of her distress immensely.

‘D-does Edward know?’ she stuttered in fear.

‘Oh, no, no, no… I do not believe anyone knows except you, myself, and—how did you put it—the father of the future Marquess of Lothian.’

He wished there was an invention at hand that would have recorded this scene in an instant or that Florence stayed like that so as to allow him to sketch her. He wanted to remember every second of just how terrified and distressed she became just from a few words of his. Ah, he would have to mark this day in his calendar as one to celebrate.

She could not stop from crying buckets before long. Alfred could have offered a handkerchief but it seemed a waste. He only shared them with Edward, after all…

‘Please, Lady Florence, I only mean to help,’ he said, getting a bit bored of the tears.

She scoffed at him mercilessly.

‘Why should I believe you, you nosy scoundrel?!’

‘Because I am the nosy scoundrel that can ensure you marry the man you actually love. Now, _is_ there a living child, Lady Florence?’

She cried a river before she could find her voice to reply. Alfred’s heart was almost moved for her. Almost.

‘No… I lost… I lost her… in Hastings…’

Fine, Alfred found it difficult to torment her more. He rolled his eyes at himself mentally: why did he have to feel for her? She was his arch enemy! Not for long.

‘But you are… _enceinte_ again?’ Alfred euphemised in French to speak her language.

She nodded.

‘And that is why you need to marry Drummond as soon as possible?’

She nodded again.

‘I suppose your parents don’t like the idea of a Catholic husband. Am I correct?’

She nodded and wept and wept some more.

‘There, there,’ Alfred patted her on the hands, careful to only touch her where she was covered by her gloves. Everything about her, down to the last honey blond curl irritated him. And yet, when he addressed her again, he spoke ever so gently. ‘I promise it will be alright. Follow me to the music room. Miss Coke and I have a surprise for you.’

With great difficulty, he managed to get her to stand up, take his arm, and walk with him down the gallery to the music room.

As soon as she saw him, her tears dried up.

‘Oscar!’

‘Florence!’

Florence ran into her true love’s arms, quite forgetting about the rules of etiquette with which she liked to verbally slay others. When she resurfaced, she realised they were surrounded by not only Lord Alfred but her friends Wilhelmina and Harriet. She knew she was in good hands from that moment on.

They devised a strategy over tea and biscuits.

***

‘Pregnant?’ Edward uttered in shock. ‘Florence… is pregnant?!’

By the time Alfred finished telling Edward all about his adventures, they had almost lost the light, the room had turned from golden to soft peach, and they had eaten up all the grapes.

‘Yes, she confessed she had gone to Hastings not because of an illness per se but because she had fallen pregnant from her trip to Paris. Unfortunately, she lost that baby and needed to recover from that, which is very sad.’

‘I never knew…’

‘However, she is now with child once again! Walsh spent the summer in London. Looks like we weren’t the only ones enjoying ourselves in Scotland. I’m sorry I fell asleep on your book earlier but I have spent the day running between the Palace, Florence, Walsh, your parents, and this house, to make sure everything was in order and that they wouldn’t have to elope.’

‘Elope?’

‘Well, her parents didn’t want Florence to follow him to the Continent and marry out of the Church. Luckily, we all banded together to fight for them this time, and it worked. They are getting married next month in Bretagne. We are invited.’

‘I am not sure…’

‘I don’t even believe you should look forward to too many embarrassing questions. Everyone just wants to know about the assassination and whether you’ll appeal the court ruling.’

‘I think I’m too happy to wish that man a worse fate now.’

‘Ha! Your junior secretary will be outraged! You should see Her Majesty when he assists Sir Robert during his audiences. She misses your rather less vulgar council.’

Alfred laughed about it, in disbelief of his own actions now that he had recounted it all in one go.

‘So that is why I didn’t stay by your sickbed all week. I hope you can forgive me for that. It was all so that you can be free, Edward. We are free.’

Edward was completely flabbergasted.

‘Y-you did all of this f-for me?’ he asked.

‘Who else?’

Edward was really stunned.

‘Well, I seem to remember that not long ago you believed our love was impossible. And now, you have risked your friendships and you have gone to the end of the world and back…’

‘Paris is hardly the end of the world, darling.’

‘You really did all this to allow us to be happy, just us, together?! Alfred…’

Edward cared not a fig about his injury, which was healing well anyway, and sat up so that he could kiss Alfred, as a free man, for the first time.

Alfred kissed back gladly, even desperately, thirsty for the taste of fruit on his lips as well as the love he longed for. When they parted, he was glad Edward was happy but something was strange about him. He was anxious.

‘What’s wrong, my love? Aren’t you happy?’

‘Yes, yes, I am. I am! So very happy, Edward,’ Alfred said but, still, he looked at his love as if he was scared of him a bit. ‘Are you?’

‘I am overjoyed!’

‘And you would still like to be with me? As… as partners? Lovers? Like we said?’

‘Of course, Alfred! That is my dearest wish! Why, why wouldn’t I?’

Alfred heaved a heavy sigh and avoided Edward’s eyes.

‘Because… I know there is one more story that we need to talk about, and this is one which might change your mind about me.’


	12. Dinner for Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An informal dinner among friends and family to celebrate Edward's recovery and clear the air.

‘What do you mean?’ Edward asked. ‘Nothing would change my mind about you. Nothing has.’

Alfred tried to smile but he had his doubts.

‘Your sister took excellent care of you while I was away, though she has learnt a lot more about you and I than she ever cared for. You see, when you were enjoying the full effects of the medicine…’

‘Oh, God, was I awfully embarrassing?’

‘No, not at all, my darling. You were just adorable. You just… talked. A lot. A tremendous lot. Mostly about Scotland, according to Miss Drummond, which…’ Alfred placed his hand over his heart.

Edward shared his bashful smile. He knew his dreams were very vivid but he did not imagine he had been narrating them.

Sadly, Alfred’s face turned grim very quickly as he failed to keep his anxiety at bay.

‘But when she asked me who “that Prince Eugène” was…’

Edward caught on instantly. Though he was overjoyed by Alfred’s success at saving him from an unwanted marriage, he couldn’t help a certain kind of sadness stealing some of the light from his eyes. Alfred considered carefully how he should approach this.

‘Did you… hear me? That night?’ Alfred asked, knowing the terrible answer already. It was all written on Edward’s face. ‘How much? Oh God… you heard it all, did you not?’

Alfred would have given anything if Edward had begun shouting at him, berating him, telling him how debauched he was and how foolish, anything—because what he was doing was avoiding his eyes. Was Alfred so despicable then? That he couldn’t even bring himself to regard him anymore?

He tried to remember his own words, mentally kicking himself for just how much sensual detail he went into whilst talking about his past experiences with other men. He wouldn’t have been nearly as candid if he had known Edward was listening. But then, was it the way he had spoken of them or the acts themselves that were so shameful to own up to? Of course someone as wholesome and spotless as Edward would have been scandalised to no end.

He wished he hadn’t reminded him of it now. Edward had been lovely with him until he brought it up. Alas, just as it was with his past, he could not take back his words.

‘Edward… look at me… please…’

At that moment, the housemaid entered without knocking and Alfred had to pull away from his love abruptly. She bent her knees very briefly in a haphazard curtsey and announced dinner and would they like it to be brought up now or later and Miss Drummond is asking whether they want tea or wine with it—and the moment was gone.

‘Thank you, Cecilia, I think I should like to go downstairs for dinner tonight,’ Edward told her.

‘Are you sure?’ Alfred asked him.

‘I am quite sure,’ Edward replied, finding that he could get up and sit on the bed without too much discomfort.

‘I’ll tell Charlotte,’ the housemaid said and left.

Alfred’s eyes bulged not for the first time at her conduct, plus her interruption annoyed her.

‘Edward, I know it is scarcely my business but your housemaid is appallingly inappropriate sometimes.’

‘She’s not really a housemaid.’

‘Come again?’

‘She is Miss Wyndham, the Countess of Listowel and her late first husband’s daughter.’

‘Then what is she doing in this house dressed as a maid?!’

‘I have been helping Charlotte hide her from her family, which I thought would be best executed if visitors are under the impression that she is a housemaid. Nobody will ever look at her twice this way.’

‘But whyever must she hide from her family?’

‘Because she is Charlotte’s lady friend. Like… much like us with one another. Exactly like us.’

Comprehension dawned on Alfred’s face. It all made sense now, Cecilia’s rather half-hearted service and Charlotte’s incessant cleaning despite being the lady of the house.

‘You’re not the only who’s lived their life, Alfred.’

Edward said that with an edge of admonition in his voice; Alfred would have been less stunned by a slap in the face. Without waiting for Alfred, he got up, donned his dressing gown and went right downstairs.

*

‘I should be going now, Miss Drummond,’ Alfred said to her discretely in the foyer.

She stopped abruptly in her haste, nearly spilling the contents of a _saucière_ and a plate full of roast potatoes on the black-and-white marble floor.

‘Nonsense! Surely, you are dining with us, Alfred.’

‘Edward might not want me to,’ he said, not feeling up to explaining more.

She furrowed her eyebrows skeptically. ‘Really? Then why did he just make Cecilia bring up the last bottle of our 1812 port just because you are partial to it?’

Alfred peeked through the open doorways to catch a glimpse of Edward, who was happily arranging the dining table out on the garden patio so that the distance between cutlery, places, and crystal glasses was just right. Never mind the fact he was still in his dressing gown, wrinkled nightshirt, and tweed slippers—though he had combed his hair, perhaps at his sister’s insistence? He looked up from his work, sensing he was being watched, and smiled and waved at Alfred to go join him.

‘See? And none of this “Miss Drummond” business when we are in private, I’m Charlotte to you. Come on then,’ she said and handed him the sauceboat without asking.

Alfred put his top hat back on the rack in the foyer and warily followed Charlotte to the patio.

‘I’m sorry it’s not perfect,’ Edward said to him at once. ‘But you’ll find we do everything on our own in this house.’

‘Well, not quite. You valet has been treating Cecilia like a housemaid,’ Charlotte scolded her brother once she found a good place for the sides. ‘Imagine that!’ she joked with the ghost of a wink in Alfred’s direction that said they were partners-in-crime now.

‘I sent him back to Downing Street,’ Edward replied with the revengeful grin of siblings in rivalry. ‘He’l only come round in the mornings. It’s better if it’s just us four.’

‘Us… four?’ Alfred asked timidly. He was still lingering in the doorway with the lone, little sauce boat, unsure if he was really wanted there.

‘Of course,’ Edward turned to him, a lot less icily than Alfred imagined him upstairs. ‘Now that you know the secret of this house, there is no point in excluding Cecilia from the table, is there?’

‘I meant myself,’ Alfred admitted quietly. ‘Are you sure you want me to join you?’

Edward came around the table to take his love’s hand and physically make him sit at the now fully laid dinner table, even pushing the chair under him. Alfred couldn’t help laughing at this, even if he reminded Edward to take it easy.

‘Stop fretting, I feel splendid! Where’s Cecilia? We should begin before we lose the light.’

‘I’m coming, I’m coming!’ Cecilia said as she arrived, too, with extra candelabra to light for this evening feast.

‘Finally, I’m starving!’ Edward sighed and sat opposite Alfred, both lighting candles—their hands bumping together ever so slightly, bringing them to giggles as if they had just met for the first time.

Alfred was somewhat relieved: he thought Edward was angry at him, or even disgusted, but he really wasn’t. Perhaps there was a strange depth in his warm brown eyes akin to sadness, but he was far from kicking him out of his house. There was an unspoken agreement between them that they might address things later but for now they were sitting down under the stars with company.

He understood that all the informality of this dinner was a show of intimacy in itself, not of carelessness. The luxury of the townhouse and its affluent residents could not be hidden, but the lack of servants, the untamed ivy and rose bushes around the patio that hid the party from the eyes of prying neighbours, even the mismatched sets of plates made him feel like this was a sanctuary where he was invited to let his guard down.

‘Did you keep us waiting to fuss with your hair?’ Charlotte asked Cecilia as they too sat at the table, but she couldn’t actually be mad at her beloved.

‘Be glad I did not change!’

‘You wanted to change?’

‘Naturally! But Edward is right, my dearest. Let’s eat,’ Cecilia said, turning to Alfred first. ‘Champagne, Lord Alfred? To wash down the shock. These absolute rascals tell me you are now our confidant and so I have no embarrassment in admitting I too know of your friendship with Edward. I say we must celebrate.’

Alfred looked around their eccentric little company: Edward quite comfortable in his night gown, Cecilia, a countess’s daughter in a housemaid’s clothes but pearls in her red hair, and Charlotte, who forgot to take off her apron that befitted a cook more than a Drummond in her own Mayfair townhouse, and himself in his finest clothes all wrinkly from his earlier nap.

‘I agree, Miss Wyndham, champagne would be splendid.’

Feeling overdressed, he took off his coat, which was far more comfortable in the warm, late summer air, and raised his glass to allow Cecilia to fill it. Edward made himself a large plate of dinner and only stopped himself from devouring it all within seconds because of the company.

‘Glad to have you back, brother dear,’ Charlotte commented amusedly. ‘Leave some morsels for the rest of us, though.’

Edward swallowed his mouthful of roast. ‘I’m sorry, but I could not be gladder to be sitting here.’

‘Nor can I,’ Alfred said trying not to choke up now that he said it. He raised his glass of champagne. ‘To Edward.’

“To Edward” they all toasted despite his protests and pleas for everyone to just go back to eating their dinners.

Naturally, they chatted about this and that—the trials, Florence and her new plans for marrying, whether they should all go or not (Charlotte deciding against it because Cecilia would not be able to come with them), how they ran this house, how the ladies learned to cook without assistance and nearly burned the house down at first, about sacrificing the comfort of a full, live-in staff for the sake of privacy, and how this arrangement came about in the first place.

‘The ladies tricked me,’ Edward lamented theatrically, though grinning into his port. ‘Charlotte smuggled Cecilia in one night and hid her in her room for more than a week before I realised it.’

‘It was becoming difficult to explain why Charlotte kept having enormous plates of breakfast, lunch, and dinner in her room every day,’ Cecilia said, cracking them all up.

‘Is this truly necessary?’ Alfred asked her. ‘I apologise, I do not mean to dampen the mood but this is extraordinary.’

‘No, it’s quite alright,’ she replied, happy to chat with a friend after what felt like ages. ‘You see, I am from my mother’s first marriage. My father passed away when I was only one. I have a full elder sister, whom I can trust with my life, but she is married and very busy with a growing family up in Yorkshire at the moment. All the others are my half-siblings and they take after my step-father, the Earl of Listowel. He doesn’t care for unmarried women. And I don’t care for marrying. So you see, we had a bit of a disagreement.’

Charlotte stabbed and cut the piece of roast meat on her plate with more force than necessary.

‘When Cecilia fought against the pressure to marry a second-cousin, the Earl locked her in her room for a month,’ she continued the story, hardly containing her contempt. ‘I went round as I began to think it odd that I had not received any letters from Cecilia for a while. On the pretext of wishing to admire the flowers, I was allowed to go to the garden from where I could see her window. The butler had lied to me about her being out of the house, which was awfully strange and, clearly, she was in need of help.’

‘And so, once night fell, my knight in shining armour came for me on the back of a mighty steed and rescued me,’ Cecilia finished, sharing a loving smile with Charlotte. Alfred cracked up. ‘Oh, I’m quite serious, Lord Alfred. She broke into our house through the mews on horseback, riding it a man’s way even though she was wearing a skirt, then she threw a rope up my window that I fixed around my bedpost—Charlotte in the know about the geography of my bedroom—and luckily, by the time the housekeeper found the key that opened my door, I had gathered some essential things and climbed out the window and onto Charlotte’s horse and off we were, riding across London in the middle of the night, to come here.’

Alfred forgot all about dinner as he was listening to this incredible story.

‘I hear you are just as willing to save a damsel from a horrible fate, Alfred,’ Charlotte said.

‘I am not a damsel!’ Edward piped up.

‘Indeed not,’ Alfred had to agree enthusiastically. ‘Quite the opposite, Edward is a hero.’

‘So every paper keeps saying!’ Cecilia said and raised her glass to him.

Alfred put down his cutlery and looked at Edward over the jolly, little flames of the candles on the table. Though night had fallen, he could see the colour had returned to Edward’s cheeks and despite his cosy, homely attire and unshavenness, he had that air around him that spoke of confidence and a clear heart, and Alfred fell in love with and admired.

‘You know, I have been Her Majesty’s guard for ten years and never have I ever seen anyone quite literally jump in front of a bullet, nor have I ever done such a foolish, heroic, stupid, courageous act. I have chased after aspiring assassins but what I saw Edward do, in that moment… He is no damsel. Though I did save him from further distress as regards the engagement, I will say that.’

‘Are you not terribly worn out?’

‘Desperately!’ Alfred admitted, laughing at just how tired he was after his impromptu journey for Florence’s new fiancé.

‘What’s this Mr Walsh like?’

‘Oh, very fitting for Florence, as little as I know her. Awfully groggy when apart but once together, they make a most malleable, love-struck pair. Five minutes after reuniting, they were already writing up lists on which flowers to use in the church and who to pick as the best man!’

Edward shook his head, still in disbelief. ‘I never suspected any of it. Any of it!’

‘You were never the smartest when it comes to matters of the heart,’ Charlotte remarked.

‘Perhaps not the fastest, I’ll give you that,’ he admitted, stealing a glance from Alfred, who had been full of questions all evening. ‘I should love to toast you, too, ladies. You see, Alfred, in a way, discovering that my sister had a romantic friend in Cecilia prompted me to realise what my own conflicting feelings were towards you.’

‘When was this?’ Alfred asked, his heart beating faster just from the memories. Edward had been right to scold him for being so self-absorbed. He wanted to know about others. About Edward, the side of him that was still a mystery.

‘In France. No, uh, after. I had not quite understood why I was so excited to visit the Palace even when a boring bureaucratic matter was on the agenda, or why it was the highlight of my day when you were there and why it felt like a wasted journey when you were not. Or why I hadn’t told you for so long that I was engaged. Why the part of my life that was to do with Florence and the part with you were like oil and water. Why…’ Edward trailed away, knowing he could not continue freely in front of the ladies.

‘Oh, he’s blushing,’ Charlotte and Cecilia sniggered.

But Alfred was mesmerised, holding Edward’s gaze even if he was still worried about what he thought of him because of his scandalous past in the back of his mind.

‘When you tormented me with silence, I wanted to leave Sir Robert’s side and run to you and beg you to notice me and talk to me, acknowledge me, to not abandon me. That was not normal if we were simply friends, and it sounds pathetic, I’m sorry…’

‘No, it doesn’t. Continue. I’d like to know,’ Alfred said gently. Even Charlotte and Cecilia stopped mocking Edward.

‘I, too, thought it was impossible to pursue you. How could I? There is no map for us. Then I realised that my sister achieved a life in which she does not have to fear discovery at least while at home, or marrying a man, and in which she lives with the woman she loves, spends her days with her, they read together, cook together, steal my books and bend the corners instead of using a bookmark, and look after me when I am foolish enough to get shot by a madman...’

A soft round of laughter followed that. But Edward was quite serious and genuine and now that he was out of his bed he wanted to live life to the fullest and be as honest as he could.

‘It opened up the possibility that it was not so unspeakable a phenomenon as I had been led to believe, that what I was feeling was natural and normal and did not make me a reprobate or a criminal like a vile, godless brigand fit for languishing in a dark cell in the Tower or hanged and whatnot, no matter what I’d heard all my life. They were all wrong. Sir Robert, too… I…’

Ah, those unspoken things crept back between Alfred and Edward.

‘If there was a chance that Lord Alfred, the finest and gentlest of men, shared my feelings,’ he continued without wanting to explain about Captain Peel to the women, ‘all the slander had to be false. And maybe, maybe if he wanted it too, we could carve out a life for ourselves, a secret nest and time, above all, time to spend together, as much as possible because life is short and fleeting. It can be over in a second. Now I know more than ever.’

Edward stopped, gulping at the memory of his life in limbo. He could have given into it and let it weaken him but he gathered yet more strength out of it somehow.

‘The second I realised that, I knew I could not possibly marry Florence. That I wanted Alfred, nothing else, just Alfred.’

‘Do you? Do you still want me, Edward?’ Alfred asked, feeling his heart pounding in his throat.

Edward could not bring himself to say anything more in front of the ladies, which they sensed very tactfully.

‘Coffee!’ Cecilia exclaimed in the tense silence. ‘We should make coffee. Charlotte?’

‘Yes! Let’s make this less awkward for the gentlemen, whatever the matter,’ Charlotte said in a stage whisper and followed Cecilia back into the house.

‘Although, if it _is_ an argument, I do hope you resolve it soon because we still have dessert, which would be a shame to miss,’ Cecilia added, lightening the mood in their wake.

‘Well? What would you like to know?’ Alfred asked somewhat dejectedly. ‘Though I suppose you know everything. Far too much.’

Edward regarded Alfred for a minute.

‘Why would you think it would change my mind about you?’

Alfred would have traded his embarrassment to be hanged, drawn, and quartered, but he pushed himself to answer:

‘Because you must believe I am some desirous, debauched libertine who lives for vices.’

Edward topped up their port glasses.

‘I’ll not deny some parts surprised me,’ he admitted. ‘But to be perfectly honest, the way you spoke in Scotland, I had expected something far worse. I’m glad to be relieved of my doubts.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, I confess, all the way from Scotland to London, my mind was reeling with several, unhelpful ideas, especially that Stephenson brought up Captain Peel. I started worrying that you simply sought me out to gratify your needs and you had no intention of pretending you are interested in me, as a person, as a friend, now that you got what you wanted.’

Alfred’s eyes went wide. ‘You believed that of me?’

‘I’m ashamed to say that yes, I did. I imagined you had been in dozens of men’s beds before and I didn’t matter to you as much as you to me. Until I next saw you at last and you were unchanged in your manners, thank heavens.’

‘Edward, my love…’

‘I know different now, of course,’ Edward said reassuringly, always having a smile to spare for Alfred. ‘And, no, it does not seem to me that you were a wanting libertine, or however you put it. I regard you as a most appropriate gentleman, whom I respect, do not doubt that.’

‘But I _was_ often driven by my…’

‘Perhaps. But from what I heard, Alfred, it seems to me you gave your heart to these men and they did not give you half the love you deserved in return. In case you wonder, no, I’m not exactly thrilled but because I am jealous. Of course I’m jealous! What fools they were to have had your love and squandered it away, for what? What is family, career, or a title when there is… you? To think, while you were being treated like so, I was composing my dissertation somewhere in Oxford in ignorance about your very existence!’

‘So you are not angry at me?’ Alfred asked timidly.

‘Why would I be angry at you? Like I said, we have all lived our lives. Did you really fear I would change my mind because of this?’

‘It is within your rights.’

‘I promised I wouldn’t abandon you halfway.’

‘But if you wanted to, you’re not a slave—’

‘Alfred, I promised. We have only just begun and you expect me to run? I am over the moon that we have got the engagement out of the way! The first and tallest hurdle! I only wish I had been awake for it, that I could have helped.’

‘You can help by getting properly better.’

‘I promise. You know, I am not even angry at them, the men you… have known. I just envy them their time with you. It seems strange to think of you as before I knew you. Wish I had met your sooner. Would have saved us both a lot of heartache.’

‘Perhaps you would not have taken a liking to me at all, if you had met me sooner.’

‘Nonsense. Perhaps it would have taken me even longer to realise my true feelings, or on the contrary, I wouldn’t have wasted so long a time! If I hadn’t met you, I might never have… I might never have known myself at all.’

Edward pulled a face, remembering something.

‘I did promise if you told me your story, so would I. Well, now you have, so I ought to keep my word. It won’t take nearly as long as yours, to be sure. But for the sake of full disclosure, you might want to know that I had a friend at university—nothing like that!’ Edward added, as Alfred leaned forward, sharpening his ears. ‘A _friend_. But I did spend all day every day thinking of ways to impress him.’

Alfred smiled knowingly. ‘May I ask what this chap was called?’

‘Hugh.’

‘Hugh…?’

Edward shook his head. ‘Some things are best left unsaid. He did not prompt me to recognise the true nature of my feelings as he was not like us. In fact, he was a bit of a ladies’ man. And now that I think about it, it wasn’t so much his late returns to the dorms waking me up that annoyed me as much as the fact I was just jealous. Huh. I was _jealous_ ,’ he contemplated, suddenly feeling like laughing at himself. How embarrassing to be so slow!

‘Well, I, on the other hand, am glad that this Hugh did not snatch you away from me.’

Edward laughed but whenever he met Alfred’s eyes a sudden shyness overcame him.

‘I confess I am made a little insecure,’ he admitted.

‘You?! Insecure? Why?’

‘Well, I now naturally fear I cannot live up to your expectations.’

‘Excuse me?!’ Alfred laughed in absolute disbelief.

‘I cannot be your first love. I am not a prince. And I am nowhere near as experienced and adventurous as, um…’

Alfred, when he gathered his jaw off the floor, laughed yet more.

‘I don’t want you to!’ he surprised him. ‘Edward, I cannot tell you how glad I am that it is not you that had to witness my clumsy first attempts at _courting_ and see me embarrass myself in the most hideous ways. It is a miracle I wasn’t discovered back then, honestly, it’s best I learned all that with someone else, with a lot less risk. I am also very glad you are _not_ a prince—it was difficult enough to untangle you from your engagement, not to mention these past years of waiting eons between clapping eyes on you because of your commitments as the highest secretary. Oh Lord, Edward, promise me you will never try to make up for lost time with presents, which I will never be able to wear or use in public anyway, God!’

Alfred wanted to bury his head in his glass of champagne. When he thought of his younger self, he felt so stupid, he was glad Edward did not know that version of him, as he would not have thought of him as anything but a spoiled, pompous courtier wagging his tail at the feet of those ranking higher than him like a pathetic little poodle.

‘And rest assured,’ he added, blushing, ‘the things William got me to do come nowhere near the passion that you have given me already. Really, at night I cannot close my eyes and not see you and remember… I don’t mean to sound selfish but your scar cannot heal fast enough.’

Edward bit back a grin and glanced towards the candle-lit drawing room to check Charlotte and Cecilia were not within earshot.

‘I love you, Edward. You are everything and so much more than I could ever have asked for.’

‘I love you, too, Alfred. That is all I can offer, more love than I know how to express. Even if I fear you will get bored of me one day.’

Now Alfred was hit with true disbelief, his heart ached for Edward. He went around the table and pulled up a chair close to him.

‘Bored of you? Bored of you?! Edward,’ he took Edward’s hands in his and wasn’t surprised at all that he was tearing up. ‘The day I get bored of you will be the luckiest day of my life.’

‘What?!’

Alfred reached up to cup Edward’s outraged face, to have his full and unwavering attention.

‘The day I will have got so much of you, spent so many of my days with you, that I find I must hiss at huff at you to stop fussing around my chair and leave me in peace with my book, or the day that I get mad at you for taking up so much of the bed that you have disturbed my sleep for so many nights in a row, or I storm out of the room because I have spent so much of my life with you that a habit of yours I previously adored will have become a vexation, oh, Edward, how lucky we would be if that day came!’

Outraged no more, Edward was overcome with desperate longing for such a day as soon as he shared Alfred’s vision, and he understood, warmth spreading from the bottom of his heart to the tips if his veins. He didn’t wipe his own tears away because in order to do so he would have had to let go of Alfred’s hands, and that, he could not bring himself to do.

‘Make me bored, Edward. I dare you,’ Alfred said, laughing wetly through tears. ‘I challenge you to try and make me tire of you.’

‘If you vow to do the same,’ Edward said, laughing and crying with him.

They kissed each other, glad of the privacy of the patio hidden by the ivy and the roses, only the stars overhead to witness their union.

‘The only element from my past that affects how I feel for you, Edward, is how glad I am for you,’ he whispered against his lips. ‘To talk to you, to hear you, to see you, to feel you, that your heart, your dear, beautiful heart, is still beating with life.’

‘Goodness, if I had died to save Sir Robert, who would see his own son in gaol…’

‘Shh. You are a hero. But never, _never_ do this again.’

‘I would, if a bullet was meant for you, my love. In a heartbeat, I would die for you.’

‘No, don’t die for me. Live. Live for me. _Live_ for me.’

‘So, uh, who wants dessert?’

Edward and Alfred reluctantly fled apart at Cecilia’s reappearance. What a sight to return to: the men had been kissing and crying, foreheads pressed together, noses rubbing together sweetly. Well, whatever problem they had, they must have resolved it and what better way to celebrate than with some delicious cake? All that was missing was Charlotte with the coffee, and there she was before long, for once not complaining about serving guests.


	13. Leaving London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little domestic bliss and then a journey to France that may remedy Edward's anxiety, as well as a friendship.

The summer lasted well into September. Drummond’s wound had more or less healed, though it left an ugly scar on his skin that would never go away. A bigger problem for him was that he was told to take it easy and rest until he was fully better, and Doctor Brewer would not hear of him going back to work before a full month passed. This meant that most days he was going mad from not being allowed to dash from Downing Street to the House and the Palace and to Sir Robert’s house and the offices and around and around in a circle that he loved and which kept him properly occupied.

On the other hand, perhaps it was better that he only saw Sir Robert on occasion he came to visit, one time unannounced, which meant that Alfred had to hide in the bathroom for fifteen awkward minutes while Drummond pretended he didn’t know all about the legendary PM’s intention to have his own son arrested, about the proclivities of said promiscuous, rogue, captain son, and, unfortunately, all about what he had got up to with his own lover, Lord Alfred.

_Did Alfred really say he wore a corset once?_

Edward shook his head whenever the thought intruded.

Alfred came to visit him every day for at least a couple of hours, or at times at night, when he had too many daytime obligations at court. As soon as he could, he escaped the restraints of the Palace in favour of the Drummond house, where he could let his guard down and relax. Cecilia would pounce on him first thing almost always—though she was happy with Charlotte, she was finding the lack of socialising hard to get used to. Edward often had to physically intervene and steal him from her as Alfred could never say no to her (and he feared Charlotte’s wrath if he had treated her lover with any less courtesy than Her Majesty herself).

Alfred decided to spend the whole night before setting out for France for Florence’s wedding. After the ladies had gone to bed, he took advantage of the absence of the valet, rolled up his billowy shirt sleeves, and convinced Edward to let him help him take a bath before they turned in for the night. Perhaps it was a far cry from the splendour of the royal palace but he preferred it. Nothing was quite as pleasant as sitting on the edge of the bathtub and rinsing Edward’s luscious, wet curls with some warm water from a jug.

‘Well? Do I make a good valet, Mr Drummond?’

Edward wiped the soap out of his eyes with his hands. ‘The very best.’

‘I could get used to this.’

Edward wished he had been cleared from the injury enough to _exercise_ , he would have dragged Alfred into the tub at once. He quickly nipped his thoughts in the bud before his body gave them away despite the bubbles.

‘It is more tedious than that, doing housework after oneself,’ he said to try and stay chaste.

‘Is that why you usually spend most of your time in Downing Street?’

‘That, and work, and because this allows Charlotte and Cecilia their privacy. The house may be in my name but this is normally their reign.’

‘I have noticed!’ Alfred laughed. ‘Nevertheless, all of you have made me feel very much at home.’

‘Glad to hear it. Although, don’t get used to them cooking so regularly—this is just because of my being a bit of an invalid. Cecilia will sooner hand you a cooking pan than cook for you every day, and Charlotte might just hit you on the head with it.’

Alfred chuckled. ‘Are you going to tell me next that you have learnt how to cook since hiding Cecilia?’

Edward made a guilty face. ‘My contribution is their allowance and not spilling drinks on the carpet when I reside here,’ he admitted.

‘Maybe you should. I can just see you, juggling eggs in the air, decorating cakes, a true angel in the house…’

Edward splashed a bit of water at Alfred to stop his teasing.

‘Do you mind? The way we manage this house?’ he asked more seriously.

‘It is not my place to mind at all, I think.’

‘But do you?’

‘Why would I?’

‘It is rather undignified. If you livened up a fire yourself instead of calling for a footman at the Palace, you would get some odd looks.’

‘Do you know how many times I had to scrub the floor as a punishment for pulling pranks at school?’

‘Alfred!’

‘Shush. As if you’ve never… well, I was going to say “as if you’ve never done anything impish as a boy” but now that I think about it I would wager that no, you did not! You were a Head Boy, weren’t you, with an impeccable record, no doubt?’

‘I… may have let my friends copy my homework… on occasion…’

‘Golly, now you’ve really exposed your sins, Drummond! Call for the police! For shame!’

Edward shushed Alfred. Though he was wearing a bashful smile, he did wonder whether Alfred would have preferred him to be at least a little more of a devil-maker. He simply wasn’t. Should he be?

‘No, it is fantastic,’ Alfred continued more seriously. ‘I truly believe so. Cecilia tells me they employ some outside help, washerwomen and sewing that comes as a very handy income to some less fortunate families in the eastern parts of the city, so most days all that is left is some tidying and the kitchen. It doesn’t sound too taxing this way, particularly that they are free with their time in a way we are not. I think it’s incredible. I wish I could live like this with you.’

‘We could, could we not?’

‘You mean… live here?’

‘Perhaps. Perhaps not all the time, I mean we both of us have our own obligations. But there are enough bedrooms so that it would not raise questions.’

Alfred considered it. He caught Edward’s eyes and felt guilty at once. ‘Why do I see problems everywhere? Forgive me.’

‘One of us has to. And one of us must therefore see solutions.’

‘And that is you?’ Alfred teased him, splashing a fluff of bubbles at Edward.

A blob landed on the tip of his nose, which amused them. Alfred wiped it away with his own nose and stole a kiss from Edward for good measure. He missed him. He saw him every day, but, perhaps illogically, he did. The experience of almost losing him was like a cold shower whose effects weren’t wearing off. He could not help worrying every second of every day about Edward’s wellbeing.

‘Are you sure you’ll be alright on the road to Bretagne? We do not have to go, you know.’

‘I want to,’ Edward quickly replied, for the hundredths time, hoping his eyes seemed earnest, not fearful. ‘Besides, we have already accepted. It would be bad form not to show, not to mention what it would imply of me.’

‘Such as?’

‘I don’t know, that I must be feeling quite jealous and abandoned and even too petty and proud to wish them good luck on their union. They might even say it is because I refuse to attend a Catholic wedding. I see enough nonsense written about me in the papers as it is, I do not need to add “jilted lover” or “anti-emancipationist” to it.’

‘Don’t let Papa hear you say that. He’ll be wanting to recruit you to the Whigs.’

‘The sun will sooner rise in the west, my beloved.’

‘Very well. But should you change your mind or feel at unease, I’ll turn the carriage right back. I’ll turn back the ship, I shall command Poseidon to reverse the very wind in the masts!’

‘I’ll be fine. I promise.’

Edward heard himself promise it but he wished he had more confidence in himself in actuality. Alfred’s worries were not unfounded. Though he liked to spend time in the fresh air in the garden, each of the two times Edward tried to go for a walk in the city over the past month, he was overcome by a sense of inexplicable unease. For some reason, he was bothered by sudden movements and avoided large groups of people even if they were just tourists promenading or picnicking in the park. After Scotland, London was his home, yet it was as if he did not truly feel safe anymore.

‘If you are sure,’ Alfred said, deciding to trust Edward and not wanting to be patronising. ‘Will you be wearing your kilt?’

‘We’ve been through this…’

‘Oh, please!’

‘No!’

Alfred gave a theatrical sigh. At least he tried. He did leave his gaze to linger on Edward’s scar now that almost all of the bubbles were gone. What a misfortune!—he thought, biting back a grin. Alas, Edward curled up to cover himself.

‘It’s not very pretty,’ he said in an apologetic sort of voice and tried to hide it.

Alfred’s lips curled into a smile.

‘On the contrary,’ he sighed with longing. ‘It is a mark of your bravery… and…’

He ran his fingers down Edward’s wet shoulders, chest, and downwards until he eased Edward’s hand off the scar and observed it with a strange look in his eyes, which seemed darker somehow. And was it the steam from the bathwater that brought a blush to his face?

‘You… you find it… attractive?’ Edward asked, finding that a bit weird.

Alfred licked his lips absent-mindedly.

‘I’ll be in bed. Don’t be too long,’ he said, winked at Edward, and left to the bedroom.

Edward smiled to himself and finished bathing on his own.

It was very like him nowadays that by the time he had dried himself, he was filled with insecurities again. He knew Alfred was waiting for him but he fussed with his hair so that it wouldn’t dry in a hideous way and stayed in front of the mirror to take a look at himself.

That scar etched on his skin just below his ribs was a part of him now, a reminder of a frightening time, with which he would have to live for the rest of his days. He was lucky, as everyone kept telling him.

He had had a lot of time to think since the incident. He should have avoided reading the news so much but that was all he had while he had to stay away from the office. Everyone kept trying to protect him from harm because of his anxiety on his outings. He didn’t feel weak anymore but everyone treated him like that. It was so confusing. Was he a hero or a damsel?

Another problem was that now that he knew all about Alfred’s past lovers, he was reminded of them at every step. He claimed he was alright with it but then he would privately waver.

For example, one night, he was watching Alfred teaching Cecilia a Chopin piece and it was very charming until he remembered that Alfred must have looked like that when he was teaching his first friend, Michael. Or, though previously the sound of Alfred speaking in French amazed and delighted him, now he kept wondering if he had become fluent at it while courting his divine, Russian prince. Even his “battle” scar made him think more often than not whether he had made Alfred relive the time when that boy at his equestrian school died. And even if that was not the case, while he was happy it did not make Alfred recoil in disgust, he remembered Captain Peel and how he would use his fresh scars as a very convincing reason that he and Alfred should seize the day.

How much of them did Alfred see in him? How much did he _want_ to see? Did he expect him to be as gentle as… as interesting as… as adventurous as… as, as, as! Edward did not want to be compared to others because he regarded Alfred as incomparable to anyone! He hadn’t exactly been reluctant to have Alfred in his bed while he recovered but they stayed chaste since Edward was still supposed to be getting better, but the better he got, the more it was on his mind. It had seemed so easy to give in to their desires that night in Alfred’s unused townhouse when Edward was blissfully ignorant. Now, he could not get over his own self-doubting thoughts.

And finally, Edward had never doubted his own manliness but now that everyone treated him like a delicate invalid, and he was told not to work, he felt a bit emasculated. Did Alfred not tell him just minutes before that he should learn how to cook? That he should wear his kilt? Even if he was joking, why? Did Alfred mean that he wished him to play a woman’s role more? Did that extend to… all aspects of their relationship? Edward wasn’t sure he wanted to—well, he wasn’t sure about what he wanted in general! It all became so hazy, and the more he waited, the deeper his insecurities spiralled.

He quickly perished that last thought, though. Was it not Alfred that was so willing to indulge in somewhat feminine activities around him: bathing him like a servant, reading to him like a mother, bringing him gossip from the court, and throughout the month how many times had he nursed him with the gentlest care, served him meals, sat with him, and changed his bandages when he still needed them?

And when he thought about the way Charlotte and Cecilia managed their roles: did they not also take on both masculine and feminine jobs in equal parts? Edward started to doubt everything he had ever learnt about what men and women must do respectively. He did not even think it was fair to think about making love as requiring one to take on a man’s role or a woman’s. He did not want a woman in his bed, he wanted a man, he wanted Alfred! Could they not make up their own rules? Did anyone have to be either “the man” or “the woman” in their companionship at all?

No, he decided. Not at all.

‘Edward? I miss you!’ Alfred’s sleepy voice sounded from the bedroom.

Edward tightened the towel around his now dry waist and went to join him. Alfred was already in bed, the covers pulled up to his neck despite the warm mid-September evening.

‘Where’s my nightshirt?’ Edward asked.

‘Your what? I have never heard of such a thing,’ Alfred flirted in a drowsy and muffled voice.

Edward chuckled. ‘Is that so?’ he asked sceptically.

‘Uh-hmm,’ Alfred replied mischievously.

‘Because I seem to remember leaving it here on the back of my chair.’

‘No, no, you must be mistaken. You never had a nightshirt.’

‘I think I did but someone’s been naughty and hid it from me.’

‘Oh no! What _will_ you do now? Not… come to bed undressed?!’

‘Well, it seems I must,’ Edward decided as it really did not matter anymore between them. He would try to get back at Alfred with some trick another time. He made sure the curtains were fully shut first, then he discarded his towel, blew out the candles, and slipped into bed. Despite the darkness, he saw a flash of a bare shoulder when he raised the covers. ‘Alfred, are you naked?’

‘…I might be.’

Edward shook his head despite his grin. Why did Alfred affect him so? He used to be a most proper gentleman and now he could not believe how excited he was just because Alfred was in a playful mood.

‘You know Doctor Brewer says I am not to exert myself just yet.’

‘I know. Is it still painful?’ Alfred asked and reached out to gently caress the place where the scar blemished Edward’s otherwise perfect body.

‘Not at all, just a bit tender.’ Edward answered honestly. Then, it occurred to him that he had an opportunity to play it up a little: ‘But, you know how it is, I am pulling through.’

‘Oh?’ Alfred’s ears perked up at once. ‘My hero…’

 _It worked_ , Edward thought to himself. Alfred shuffled closer and closer under the covers, so close Edward knew for certain they were both very naked and having a hard time obeying the doctor’s orders.

‘Maybe I can kiss it better?’ Alfred whispered hotly against Edward’s lips.

He was true to his words and kissed a line down Edward’s chest and stomach. However, whatever Brewer said, he did not stop at the scar…

Insecurities be damned.

*

The sunny weather held out in the morning. The Duchess of Sutherland’s carriage was parked outside the Drummonds’ address, a cab behind it. The valets lifted a suitcase on the back of the Duchess of Sutherland’s carriage. Alfred thanked them and told them to go ahead and get in the cab to the docks with the lady’s maids and wait there while he went downstairs to say goodbye to Cecilia—of course, this last part, he did not add.

‘Should he be doing that?’ Charlotte asked Alfred when he resurfaced upon seeing Edward happily carry one last piece of luggage out of the house and heave it on top of the rest.

‘Oh, Edward and I have established that he is perfectly fit for some physical exercise,’ Alfred replied.

Edward overheard and he was mortified. He muttered something about grabbing a book for the journey. Charlotte did not want to ask more questions.

The men said goodbye to Charlotte as well and got into Harriet’s carriage. She as well as Miss Coke were already in there, and off they went to the docks to catch a ship to Cherbourg, where they would take a night train towards Le Mans, and a carriage to Oscar and Florence’s chateau in the country.

It was all perfectly planned. Though Alfred expected Edward to have difficulty with travel, he got used to it soon enough. However, he did not count on Harriet’s icy mood, which lasted well into their journey. By the time they got off the train and into the carriage, even Miss Coke had run out of ideas on how to cheer her up or at least get her to close her book and engage in conversation with her friends.

*

‘I spy… something… green.’

‘A bush?’

‘No, Miss Coke, not a bush,’ Alfred replied.

He was bored to death by these games. They were fun at the beginning but now that they were on the last leg of their long journey into the French countryside, he really felt they had exhausted all travel pastimes among the four of them. Well, the three of them. Harriet was still not budging.

‘Aren’t you going to have a guess, duchess?’

Harriet remained silent and buried in her book.

‘Let us let her read, Lord Alfred,’ Edward whispered politely.

‘Balderdash! She has not turned the page for the past twenty minutes! She is not reading, she is pretending we do not exist. Or at least I don’t.’

‘Why would she?’ Miss Coke asked very innocently. ‘That’s not true, Harriet, is it?’

‘I’m afraid the Duchess is still holding a grudge at me,’ Alfred continued, as if Harriet couldn’t hear them all perfectly clearly.

‘Why?’

‘Because she is under the impression that I have blackmailed her.’

At that, Harriet laughed bitterly and closed her book at last. ‘Isn’t it blackmail to threaten to spread unseemly rumours about one in exchange for secrecy?’

‘Perhaps, but since this is an exchange of secrets on both sides, I rather think we are blackmailing one another, duchess,’ Alfred replied cleverly. ‘And anyway, everyone in this carriage knows my secret, while I have kept yours. Even from Drummond.’

Harriet looked at Miss Coke in astonishment, then at Drummond but only briefly before going red because his hand had been taken by Alfred.

‘Do not blush, duchess. This is the reason why we are now enjoying this lovely view in Bretagne on the way to Lady Florence’s wedding, all of us guests, not the groom,’ he emphasised, shooting a look at Edward. ‘I admit I once entertained hard feelings about Florence but if her happiness is a side-effect of Drummond and myself being happy, I say, I will endure the torture. Look, not a cloud in the sky! How _will_ we cope?’

Alfred let go of Edward’s hand and changed his tone.

‘After all, we can all sympathise with the ache of a love that is not meant to be.’

Harriet sighed and raised her head to address Alfred.

‘Is it a tree?’

‘Come again?’

‘Is it a tree, the thing you spied?’ Harried replied, perhaps with a bit more sense of humour and ease. ‘You wanted me to play. Let me play.’

Alfred was brought to a smile. ‘Yes, it is a tree. Your turn, Harriet!’


	14. A Dance with the Green-Eyed Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise guest causes a lover's quarrel. Harriet's meddling may escalate things inadvertently and even Miss Coke can't save the day by very wise advice, and Edward lets loose for once in his life, for all the wrong reasons.

At the chateau, Florence was on the cusp of losing her decorum because the first autumn rainfalls arrived. If the clouds did not disperse by the morning, their wedding would be washed away! Rain on the wedding day was bad luck! And what would the guests say?

She did not know that she, in her dry clothes and warm, dry room would have been envied by her guests still on the road. Harriet’s carriage got stuck in the mud on a country path just an hour away from their destination. It was getting dark and the farmhand that promised to bring help was nowhere.

‘Well, what about it, Drummond?’ Alfred asked, getting tired of waiting. ‘Better arrive wet than not at all.’

‘I fear you are right, Lord Alfred.’

‘Ladies…’

And with that, against the ladies’ protests, the men—valets, grooms, and gentlemen included—joined forces to push the carriages out of the muddy spot that had them trapped. They eventually succeeded, by which time they were all sufficiently drenched to the bone.

The butler of the chateau nearly did not let them through the gates but upon seeing the ladies in the carriage, he quickly realised he’d better let them enter.

Wilson, Alfred’s valet, could not hold back a sneeze or two once Alfred was dressed in dry evening clothes and ready to join the party, very belatedly. Alfred told him to turn in for the night and get warm by the fire, and to tell Edward’s valet to help if needed. As for him, whether he would have preferred to get into a warm bed by the fire or not, he had to hurry downstairs and find the gentlemen’s dinner that must have been going on for a long while.

‘Alfred! Wait up,’ Edward called from the top of the stairs and skipped after him fast. ‘Any idea where we might find the dinner?’

Luckily, they spotted a passing footman down the hallway – they nearly slid down the length of the marble floor and knocked into a humongous baroque painting of a menacing lord, but by the time the footman turned, they straightened up and they were just the perfect image of two elegant gents. Alfred asked him in French where they should go in this maze of a chateau. They were politely informed that they missed the dinner altogether and that they ought not to find the dining room but the smoking room down the hall, where the bachelor’s party was in full swing.

Relieved, Edward and Alfred did just that.

As soon as they arrived, they shared a look and burst out in laughter.

About thirty well-dressed and well-fed gentlemen were congregating in the elegant smoking room. The mood was so jolly and vivid that nobody berated them for being late, especially with this dreary weather out there. The air indoors was humid, and densely filled with smoke and laughter. Cognac was thrust into the new guests’ hands and they were made very welcome indeed. Groups of men were huddled over bridge tables, shouting whether they won or lost. The groom was sat in an armchair surrounded by friends who encouraged him to drink more, and a bit more, and just one more for good luck! He needed no luck, he already had the world’s most agreeable bride—that’s what he tried to say but another round of brandy was poured and handed out all around.

Alfred and Edward ventured deeper into the fray. A group of young and old men stood up and nearly swept them away on their way to the piano platform. They began performing something akin to a theatrical scene, albeit on wiggling legs their words were very slurred, make no mistake! They linked together, arm-in-arm, to form a wall before the pianist’s pedestal, spilling port on the carpet as they swayed left and right and recited lewd verses to the groom’s amusement about the wedding night, and the joys and ails of married life.

‘ _Unpin that ‘spangled’ breastplate which you wear, That th’ eyes of busy fools may be stopped there_!’

Edward covered his face from second-hand embarrassment as one of the actors held two oranges to his chest, causing another actor to overdramatically faint at his feet at the sight of the impromptu breasts.

‘Is this a French custom, Lord Alfred?’ Edward asked him covertly between giggles. ‘My brother Charles’ bachelor send-off was nothing like this!’

‘I believe it is just John Donne’s effect,’ Alfred replied, hardly containing his own laughter. ‘And that of the cognac!’

Another actor stepped forward, unblocking the view of the pianist, and Alfred’s breath hitched.

‘ _By this these angels from an evil sprite,_ ’ the drunken actor recited suggestively. ‘ _Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright,’_ he mimicked the meaning of this line with the help of an expandable telescope. _‘License my roving hands, and let them go, Before, behind, between, above, below_.’

Even the groom reached his limits and put an end to this impromptu—and most improper!—performance, though the whole room was in fits of laughter.

Edward suggested to Alfred that they find some seats by the window for fresh air but Alfred appeared not to hear him. The pianist looked up from the jig he was playing on a grand piano fit for more elegant music than pub songs, and he lost his rhythm for a second. He then began a wholly different tune, a gentle Chopin, or so Edward guessed. He wasn’t an expert at music, but since Alfred seemed to like it—in fact, he was rooted to the spot, listening—he remained by his side.

All too soon, someone told him to quit dampening the mood and suggested a good, old, Irish tune. The pianist obliged, though not without a shake of the head at his rambunctious friends. The party was back in full swing.

Alfred realised Edward was trying to usher him towards free seats by the glazed windows leading to the garden. Waking from a trance, he followed.

Introductions were made, cigars smoked, drinks handed around. Someone opened the window at last and when someone else pointed out that the rain had stopped, the men gave it a round of applause. Some filed out on the terrace, including Alfred and Edward. They lit cheroots and enjoyed the starry sky and the refreshing scent of wet grass. The bride can go to bed happy if she wasn’t already taking her last maiden rest.

Of course, none of them knew that she had already _liaised_ with Oscar beforehand and that she was expecting a child, not for the first time.

Alfred had almost forgotten about it. Until there he was again. Edward bumped into someone standing behind him, and he quickly apologised, before even clapping eyes on him—they both did.

‘Hello,’ the man said in surprise when his eyes fell on Alfred next, who nodded politely in turn, his mouth quivering as if he could not decide whether to smile or not.

Edward recognised him as the pianist. ‘You played marvellously, sir,’ he said, enthusiastically shaking his hand. ‘The jigs as well as the, uh, was that Chopin?’

‘It was something… original,’ the pianist replied, nearly losing his voice when he stole a glance from Alfred.

‘Really? It was splendid!’ Edward complimented him, noticing nothing. ‘You are very talented.’

‘Oh, thank you for saying that, sir, uh…’

‘Uh, this is Mr Drummond. Edward. Edward Drummond,’ Alfred explained. ‘Drummond, this is M-Mr Charles Michael Hewitt-Walsh.’

‘Hewitt-Walsh-Lacroix now. My mother-in-law insisted, not that I put up a fight.’

‘Are you family?’ Edward inquired.

‘I am Oscar’s first cousin.’

‘Oh…!’ Alfred said with the impression of one who solved a puzzle. ‘I see.’

‘I am also his best man, being his closest male relative and I live “only” a day’s ride away with my family. Say, Mr Drummond, I am bad at this as I prefer to live a quiet and remote life for the most part but why does your name ring so familiar to me?’

Edward sighed. ‘Crikey, please do not tell me the French papers are writing about it, too.’

‘About what?’

‘Drummond is the chap who saved Sir Robert from that assassin’s bullet last month,’ Alfred explained.

Recognition dawned on the pianist’s face. ‘Ah! That is right! Then you must be the chap who was engaged to Florence. I’m so sorry, I do not mean to gossip. I just needed to put two and two together. You know how it is, one meets so many new faces at weddings.’

‘That’s quite alright, sir. I should get used to it if I am to survive tomorrow,’ Edward said, dreading the thought.

‘Ha! Indeed. Well, it is very good news to my cousin, even if it may be difficult for you.’

‘Not at all. I am delighted for Florence’s happiness.’

‘That’s very gallant of you, sir. Still, backing out of an engagement must have taken some courage.’

‘Better than marrying the wrong person and living a lie,’ Alfred remarked without thinking.

The pianist looked affronted for the flash of a second but he kept his decorum.

‘Right, you are, Lord Alfred. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am becoming the world’s worst best man. I see I’d better go and make sure Oscar can stand on his own two feet in the church in the morning. Nice making your acquaintance, Mr Drummond. What a swell gentleman you are! Welcome. L-lord Alfred.’

The gentleman gave a couple of flustered nods for courtesy’s sake and walked away to find the groom.

‘Do you know each other?’ Edward asked Alfred.

‘Edward… he is… God, he’s… His name is Charles Michael Hewitt-Walsh. Lacroix. Michael. _Michael_.’

Edward’s breath hitched when he finally got it. The man he had just praised to the heavens was Alfred’s first love in his youth!

‘For God’s sake, don’t look!’ Alfred whispered to him through gritted teeth when Edward was about to.

Edward was surprised but then cogs began to work—rather backwards—in his mind and his face fell. His eyes landed on Alfred sharply.

‘Did you know he would be here, Alfred?’

Alfred rolled his eyes as if cursing the heavens. ‘I knew you weren’t alright with it all… I _knew_ it!’

‘You knew, did you not?’

‘Of course I did not!’

‘They share a name…’

‘A most common name that thousands of others of all classes also have so if it was a clue I missed it!’

‘…and both live here in Bretagne!’

‘A region vaster than the entirety of Wales.’

‘Precisely. It is an awfully big coincidence.’

‘I truly did not know!’ Edward huffed skeptically and Alfred thought it best to pull him away and have this conversation further from the crowd. Still, he did not appreciate being falsely accused. ‘Think, Edward. Me assuming he would be here would be the equivalent of some local learning you are Scottish and saying “oh, I met another Scotsman ten years ago, you must know him!” Come, Edward, do not be so unfair.’

Edward did not know whether he believed Alfred or how he would ever stomach this.

‘Where are you going?’ Alfred asked when Edward knocked back the rest of his drink and made towards the door.

‘I find I wish to retire. Have fun catching up with your friend without me.’

‘Edward?!’

‘It’s what you want, is it not? Go on. I’ll make myself scarce. Good night, Alfred.’

‘Edward!’

Edward was quick to wade through the crowd in his anger, whereas Alfred was so floored and affronted and panicking that he could barely find his voice to ask people to move out of his way. Not that anyone listened easily, having consumed a fair amount of liquor. By the time he managed to wrestle his way through the smoking room and down the corridor, Edward had stormed away and out of sight and Alfred did not even know where his room was. He was gone.

*

‘Mrs Walsh,’ Drummond addressed her outside the church with a huge smile and no qualms about greeting her with a kiss on each cheek. ‘My most heartfelt congratulations to you and your husband. I wish you the very best of luck and more happiness than you know what to do with.’

Florence was indeed so happy that she had tears in her eyes always.

‘Edward, you have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that. I wondered whether you would come at all.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

‘Oh, but you look so well! Does he not, Oscar?’

‘Do I need to be jealous, Florence?’ the groom jested.

‘You know what I mean!’ she protested, swatting her husband’s arm playfully with her bouquet. She turned back to Drummond. ‘A month ago you were bedridden and now look at you! Between you and me, all the bridesmaids have inquired about a dance with you. I wager you shall be on your feet all night.’

‘Lucky I brought my comfortable shoes.’

Florence laughed heartily, so did Oscar, and Edward moved along to allow other guests a chance to congratulate the newlyweds with a heart a little less heavy with guilt. He meant it when he said he cared deeply about Florence and now that she was so very happily married he regarded her as a little sister and wished to remain good friends with her, despite the awkwardness of some memories between them that might prevent a proper friendship between two people.

Then, it occurred to him that it was a wee bit foolish to have reservations about a friendship with Florence just because they had kissed a few times, and definitely dispassionately on his part. He glanced across the room to where Lord Alfred was. Well, _he_ had no problem mingling with his former lover and his family despite their history. As soon as he had got back to his room the night before, Edward regretted his accusations, but he still wasn’t entirely sure Alfred had not, in fact, orchestrated this whole trip just to connive to see Mr Michael Walsh again.

Fine, perhaps Alfred was right. Edward was not alright with it all.

The strange urge struck him that the only way to beat his jealousy of Alfred when Michael was around—even though they did not chat as far as he could tell, and he was checking every 30 seconds—was to make Alfred jealous in turn. He even confided about this to the Duchess of Sutherland, and she had some excellent advice, being practiced at the art of romance.

And so, although he was careful not to give too much hope to unmarried ladies, he did not refuse a single dance all night.

Alfred was definitely watching him, Edward was well aware. Every time he caught Alfred’s eyes on him, he would stand up straighter and made sure his hands were resting on his dancing partner’s back firmly.

“I heard he makes over £10,000 a year!” “I heard twenty!” “With his hair and Violet’s eyes! Their children would be beautiful!” mothers would say as they watched their daughters waltzing in Drummond’s arms.

Alfred emptied his fourth glass of champagne.

‘You know, Lord Alfred,’ Miss Coke told him as she, too, watched the dancers, ‘I expected the ceremony to be different.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, well, the ceremony was quite the same as an Anglican one. Perhaps because of Florence—she has not converted yet. She isn’t sure she will, now that they are married. Nobody minds. Although, I must say, I had never seen such a splendidly decorated church in my life! There were so many gargoyles and carved statues and all that gold! I feared the roof might collapse upon us! We must inquire whether there are others to visit in the area whilst we stay here.’

‘Right you are.’

‘And then we must try and find fire-spitting dragons and excavate them from the ground below. I do so want a souvenir, though I’m not sure a whole skeleton would fit in my suitcases.’

‘Quite.’

Miss Coke rolled her eyes. ‘Lord Alfred. _Lord Alfred_.’

Alfred finally snapped out of his jealous glare.

‘I’m sorry,’ he turned to Wilhelmina at last. ‘What did you…’

‘Goodness me… Harriet told me all. I told her it was foolish to advise Mr Drummond to do this.’

‘Do what?’

‘He is clearly attempting to make you jealous. And it is working.’

‘I am not jealous…’

‘You just agreed to dig up dragon skeletons with me as a pastime, Lord Alfred,’ she told him flatly. ‘Come, the next step is obvious, is it not?’

‘Is it?’

‘You must talk to him, properly. I’m sure if you just communicated, all would be well.’

Alfred considered that. ‘Or…’ he said, having other ideas, took Miss Coke’s hand, and led her to the dance floor. Two could play at this game.

It was a twist of fate that the next dance was a quadrille and it should so happen that Miss Coke and Alfred were left to pair up with Edward and whoever his dancing partner happened to be for this one, as well as two other couples. This meant that Edward and Alfred had plenty of opportunities to prance in front of one another with their partners on their arms and pass each other so close that they might have collided if they hadn’t moved into their correct lanes the last second. If the world wasn’t so, Alfred would have grabbed Edward and kissed him senseless right then and there but what he actually had to do was watch Edward delight his dewy-eyed dancing partners with a most handsome performance and a good few of his winning, boyish smiles. Alfred wanted to slap the ladies’ hands off his love, decorum be damned! One of them, who could not be older than 17, he even saw squeezing Edward’s bicep very clearly. And Edward let her! Alfred poured all his frustration into making the most of the parts where he got to take a turn with Edward’s main partner. After all, no one was a finer dancer than Lord Alfred Paget, Queen Victoria’s favourite. It helped that he also whispered secret compliments into her ear that would surely contend even with Edward’s most becoming muscles.

By the time the dance ended, Miss Coke determined to have a word with Mr Drummond, too. Firstly, about the inappropriateness of his hand on her mid-back instead of her shoulder blades, secondly about the fact that he should just talk to Lord Alfred about his feelings. For once, Florence had nothing but compliments on her attire, she was not going to let the men ruin her evening. Furthermore, she did not appreciate being caught up—or felt up!—in the gentlemen’s games!

Before Drummond could say yes to another new partner, Miss Coke quickly asked for the pleasure of the next dance, which was a Polka.

‘Just stop it,’ she told him firmly as soon as they began skipping and hopping in a circle. Her fierce manner was quite in contrast with the light-hearted dance.

‘Why, Miss Coke—’

‘Just _stop_ it. Talk to Lord Alfred like you are both adults. You are infuriating tonight, both of you.’

‘The Duchess of Sutherland advised…’

‘I know, and she is very amused right now, I daresay,’ she pointed out and sure enough, Harriet had been amusing herself by watching Alfred and Edward try and make each other jealous all night. ‘Did it not occur to you that she might be wanting to pull your leg as a payback of sorts? For the blackmail?’

Edward’s face said it all. It did not. So caught up he was in his own affairs.

‘Thought so. And would you put your hand where you ought to, Mr Drummond!? What _are_ you hoping to achieve?!’ she ordered and he was so frightened by this girl that did not reach his shoulders that he barely touched her for the rest of the dance!

When it was over, he promised Miss Coke he would have a mature and honest conversation with Alfred. Alas, when he went to find him, he spotted him through a window, talking to none other than Michael in a secluded corner of the garden outside the ballroom. They were so close and cosy that Michael was able to put a lingering hand on Alfred’s arm. What’s more, he then pulled Alfred behind a cone-shaped boxwood plant, where they were quite out of sight and remained so for several seconds, which turned into minutes.

Edward did not wait for longer. He excused himself when yet another marriageable young lady approached him and grabbed an entire bottle of champagne straight out of a bucket of ice.

*

Edward woke up to Wood poking him.

‘Mr Drummond, sir. Mr Drummond!’

The world was hurting. He hadn’t opened his eyes but he cursed the sunlight already.

‘Stop shouting, Wood,’ he begged the valet miserably.

‘I’m afraid I’m not shouting, sir. Coffee, water, and plain toast are on the bedside table for you. Trust me, it’s better to take it easy in such a state before a hearty meal to take care of the rest of the _fatigue_.’

Edward groaned and rolled over. It was a mistake, which they both knew as soon as he vomited into the chamber pot, which Wood held out for him just in time.

‘I am deeply, deeply sorry, Wood,’ he mumbled from behind a napkin, with which he wiped his mouth.

‘That’s alright, sir, better out than in,’ the valet said and covered the pot with a cloth. ‘Will you require me immediately, sir? Perhaps a bath would refresh you.’

‘I… uh… I don’t… no, I think I will try to come to terms with my wretched state by staying in bed for a while more,’ Edward muttered and face-planted his pillow, a puff of down flying out of it through a hole.

‘Very well, sir. In that case, I ought not to keep Lord Alfred waiting.’

‘What—what did Alfred—?’ Edward asked, squinting in the direction where he thought his valet was.

‘Just because his lordship’s valet has come down with a cold. The rain on the way here was hard on him.’

‘But is Lord Alfred alright?’

‘Why, yes, sir. Though…’

‘What, Wood?’

‘It’s not my business, sir.’

‘What about Lord Alfred, Wood? Tell me,’ Edward ordered, his own voice much too loud for his hangover.

‘His lordship seems awfully down this morning, sir. He mentioned that you had a spot of argument. Sir, if I may say so, please do try to entertain his lordship for a conversation when you are feeling better. He had half a mind to begin packing—if it weren’t for his valet fallen ill. Now, I must go and make sure his clothes are ironed and that Wilson isn’t on his deathbed. Oh, and there was a note for you. I left it on the tray. Sir.’

The valet bowed and left the room, wanting to get rid of the chamber pot as quickly as possible.

Edward tried to go back to sleep but he felt so dry as never in his life. He felt so foolish! Why did he drink all that cham---oh lord, he could not even remind himself of the drink without heaving.

 _There’s a devil-maker for you, Alfred. If you could see me now!_ Edward thought bitterly. Sitting up, he could see there was a broken champagne bottle on the floor, and he seems to have gone to bed in his evening clothes. What a mess!

He reached for the water, nearly deciding to drink it straight from the jug. He poured himself a glass and noticed the envelope placed on his coffee saucer. It was a fourth of the size of a regular one but neatly sealed with a proper wax seal. Battling the offending sunlight, he opened it and felt even more rotten and confused than the night before.

“ _Dear Mr Drummond,_

 _I hope my note finds you well._ ”

Edward heave-laughed bitterly to himself and chugged the glass of water, grateful it was cold.

“ _I shall take no offence in case of a rejection but I have had an idea. Lord Alfred mentioned that you are still recovering from your injury, despite your perfect outward appearance. Therefore, it would be my pleasure to invite you to recuperate in my own home. It is the perfect place to convalesce with plenty of opportunities for activities most beneficial for one’s health. I know that my wife, my children, and myself would be delighted if you accepted. I have not asked the rest of your party but the invitation extends to them also, naturally._

_Let me know if it is arrangeable._

_Your Humble Servant,_

_Michael H-W-L_ ”

Michael wanted him to visit his family chateau? To convalesce? What was he up to? Was this yet another ploy to get to Alfred? What if Alfred meant to pack to run to Michael, not to go home? And how on Earth will Drummond be able to get up and pull himself together enough to present himself to Lord Alfred and talk?

He flopped back on the bed and pulled the covers over his face, not wanting to face the day.


	15. Lovers' Quarrel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salt is in the air! Edward's valet is having his most trying day on the job yet. Will Edward and Alfred push him to his limits? And get this... what if they actually tried to... talk? *gasp* Hide your fragile valuables, a ballistic lovers' quarrel is on its way!

‘…and rebember, he likes his bath steabing hod, not lukewarm, and he will either choose a silver or a pale blue cravat as it’s a Wed—Wednes—ACHOOO—Wednesday.’

Wood listened to Lord Alfred’s valet’s many instructions while he placed his soup on the table. Their shared room in the attic of the chateau contained two single beds, a wooden cross on the wall, and a window facing north, which barely let in any light during the day but they did have a small fireplace, which was better than most servants’ rooms. Not that it mattered too much as normally both of them would have been up on their feet from dawn till after their masters retired.

Not today. Since Wilson was down with a nasty chill, he was bedridden, and Wood had to take care of all the tasks Lord Alfred required. And unlike the sensible Mr Drummond, his lordship was very particular about everything. Wood didn’t know how Wilson could keep it all in mind at the same time!

‘You just rest, I’ll take care of it all. Sure you don’t want a fire in here?’

‘I’m not—ACHOO—cold, thank you,’ Wilson replied unconvincingly.

‘Suit yourself,’ Wood bantered and ran down eight flights of worn servants’ staircases till he found the sewing room. He cleaned any leftover ink off the bottom of the iron, placed it over the fire, and laid out Lord Alfred’s fine shirts on the board.

A bell rang. A scullery maid ran in, squeaking his name and jabbering something in rapid French he didn’t understand. He caught Lord Alfred’s name, so he assumed he was wanted upstairs.

Four flights of stairs uphill later, he knocked on his lordship’s door.

‘Come in,’ came a flat voice.

‘How can I be of service, your lordship?’

His lordship was still in bed, his dressing gown haphazardly thrown over his nightshirt and he was in no better state than earlier that morning. At least he didn’t require a chamber pot like Mr Drummond.

‘Could you bring me a fresh glass of water, Wils—Wood?’

‘Very good, my lord. Anything else? Perhaps some breakfast?’

Alfred shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

‘Wood!’ Alfred stopped him before the valet left. ‘Have you seen Drummond?’

‘I have, my lord.’

‘And… how is he this morning?’ Lord Alfred asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

‘Not very well, my lord.’

‘Really?’ Alfred asked, trying not to feel encouraged by this news.

‘Afraid so, my lord. Just miserable.’

Alfred was flattered and satisfied—surely, this meant Edward was missing him and feeling wretched about treating Alfred so badly the night before!—though his fatigue meant he wasn’t very animated about it.

‘Did he say anything?’ he asked.

‘He asked after you, my lord.’

‘Did he?’

‘Yes. He was worried about your wellbeing.’

‘Was he?’

‘Yes, given Wilson’s sickness.’

Alfred reconsidered his feelings and his shoulders sagged and his eyes went dull. Wood scarcely understood what caused the offence but when he dismissed him it was with a flat, cold voice once again.

Wood had hardly arrived in the kitchen and told the kitchen maids to prepare a breakfast tray for Lord Alfred that a footman told him Mr Drummond had rung for him three times.

Up four flights of stairs and down the long hallway, then.

‘Mr Drummond?’ the valet asked, standing straight and catching his breath discretely, while Drummond was still in bed and talking to him from under a pillow.

‘Could you close the curtains, please? The sun is killing me.’

‘Very well, sir,’ Wood replied and did so, thinking he would love to be hungover in a comfortable room like this one day.

‘Ah, much better,’ Drummond muttered and resurfaced from under the pillow. ‘How’s the valet?’

‘Wilson? Sneezing loads, the poor devil,’ Wood chattered while cleaning up the broken champagne glass. ‘Was there anything else, sir?’

‘Did you… did you see Lord Alfred?’

Wood rolled his eyes, knowing Mr Drummond was too sensitive to light to see it.

‘I have, sir.’

‘And um… how is he?’

‘The same, sir, though he asked after you, sir.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes.’

Edward sat up. ‘He is alone, is he not?’

‘Why, of course, sir,’ Wood replied. That was an odd question.

‘Right. Just… wondered.’

Well, that silence was very awkward.

‘Would you like a bath, sir?’

‘Perhaps a little later. That was all, Wood.’

‘Very good sir,’ the valet nodded and moved to the door.

‘Wood!’ Drummond stopped him just in time. ‘Could you just ask Lord Alfred when he turned in last night?’

‘Sir?’

‘Just ask him. Say I am asking.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Wood was all questions by the time he returned to the kitchen four flights downstairs. No sooner had Lord Alfred’s tray been made that his lordship was ringing the bell. He was told there was a shortcut through a hidden door into his lordship’s chamber. It was quicker but still four flights of stairs.

‘Your breakfast, your lordship.’

‘Thank you, put it there,’ Lord Alfred told him flatly, languidly waving somewhere in the direction of a side table.

‘I apologise, the coffee may be less than scalding hot,’ Wood added as he put down the tray. ‘Wilson said that is how you prefer it but I don’t speak French so I didn’t know how to tell the kitchen maid.’

‘No matter.’ The valet lingered. ‘Yes?’

‘Mr Drummond asks… forgive me, your lordship.’

Alfred pushed himself on his elbow. ‘What does he ask, Wood?’

‘Mr Drummond asks your lordship about the time of his retiring to bed last night.’

Lord Alfred’s face was inscrutable. Wood went red in the cheeks and feared for his employment.

‘Tell Mr Drummond,’ Lord Alfred replied in a measured tone not devoid of offence at the atrocity. ‘That he would have noticed when I went to bed, if he hadn’t been too busy making eyes at his busty dance partners all evening.’

Wood gulped. ‘M-my lord I cannot repeat that to Mr Drummond.’

‘Tell him I said this verbatim. I take full responsibility for every word, Mr Drummond need not shoot the messenger. Go.’

‘V-very good, my lord.’

Wood left his lordship to his coffee and breakfast. He exited through the proper door, hurried down the hallway, and prepared to insult his employer enough to lose his job.

‘HE WHAT?’ Drummond exploded when his valet repeated to him Lord Alfred’s scandalous reply.

‘I’m sorry, sir, he told me to relay it word by word, honest.’

‘Well! I say!’

Though Drummond was dizzy from his headache, the iced water and some coffee helped and he now jumped out of bed and began pacing up and down. He cut an unlikely sight alright: wearing last night’s clothes that he slept in, his stiff collar hanging loosely on one side, his waistcoat misbuttoned and one stocking missing.

And his hair? Let’s not even go there.

‘Well!’ he repeated, fuming. ‘Well! You can tell _his lordship_ that my eyes were sharp, very sharp indeed, and they saw him conduct his own little liaison in the garden after the Polka!’

‘Mr Drummond, please don’t make me.’

‘And tell him I was just making up for lost time on the ballroom floor, to catch up with his manifold adventures!’

On his way down the hallway back to Lord Alfred’s bedchamber, Wood considered taking a suit of armour’s sword and offing himself with it, or at least arming himself with it before he relayed Lord Alfred this message. Alas, he knocked on the door and was told to enter.

‘Well?’ Lord Alfred demanded at once, already in a snappy mood.

‘F-forgive me, my lord.’

Alfred knew he wouldn’t like the message. ‘Out with it, Wood. Let me hear it.’

Wood was running down the hallway with a reply after some strenuous minutes of listening to Lord Alfred’s ballistic reaction during which he chain-smoked about three cheroots.

‘He dares to deny having any sort of a liaison and…!?’ Edward asked, appalled.

‘…and he wishes you a good day of promenades under young ladies’ skirts today, sir,’ Wood recited, having an out-of-body experience upon hearing his own words actually said out loud in Mr Drummond’s presence. To his face.

He handed a glass of iced water to Mr Drummond, which he chugged in one gulp.

‘Well, you can tell Lord Alfred…’

‘Sir, I beg you, please.’

‘… that despite his looooong, long history of amorous complications, he has nothing on my successes with skirts unless he has kept his corset from his _navy days_.’

Wood was frozen to the spot, contemplating his options. He should have stayed in Eastbourne and become a baker.

‘Mr Drummond, I will do as told if you wish me to, however, I beg you to reconsider—’

A minute later, Wood ducked out of the way of Lord Alfred’s shoe.

‘DRUMMOND WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A CORSET AND A PETTICOAT IF HIS LIFE DEPENDED ON IT!’

Another minute later, and cursing his luck, Wood found himself in the hallway with a shoe in hand and a message he absolutely could not deliver to Mr Drummond. He quickly ran four flights upstairs to ask Wilson.

‘Lord Alfred told you to throw his shoe at Mr Drummond?’

‘Yes, he did!’ Wood replied, eyes wide with panic. ‘What do I do?!’

‘Well… you must… deliver… ACHOO!’ and with that, Wilson fell asleep.

Wilson was delirious, surely. Wood ran back to the gentlemen’s hallway and knocked on Mr Drummond’s door.

‘Well, what says he this time?!’ Drummond demanded, still fuming.

Wood stood awkwardly before Mr Drummond, with Lord Alfred’s shiny, black, dancing shoe in hand. He looked at Mr Drummond, then the shoe. Then Mr Drummond. Then, the shoe.

‘No. I can’t,’ he decided, having reached his limits.

Instead of chucking it, he just stuffed Lord Alfred’s shoe in Mr Drummond’s hands.

‘Take it down from my wages, sir. I cannot. Unless it is clean shirts and hot water you need, I am done.’

Drummond was confused at the meaning of the shoe but he understood it wasn’t fair to use Wood as a postal pigeon. He asked his valet to show him which one was Lord Alfred’s door, following him down the hallway without first changing into proper clothes.

‘Enter,’ Lord Alfred’s voice sounded, full of thorns.

Wood entered alone.

‘My lord, Mr Drummond wishes to further converse with you in person. May he enter?’

Alfred, who had been pacing barefoot and smoking by the window, silk gown billowing in his wake, extinguished his cheroot in a crystal ashtray badly in need of emptying.

‘No. Mr Drummond may not enter.’

‘Very well, sir,’ Wood replied, having feared this, and placed the dancing shoe by its pair under the vanity. ‘I will bring up your ironed shirts in a few minutes,’ he added and meant to leave.

He was hit square in the face by the door swinging open with vengeance.

‘I WILL HAVE YOU KNOW,’ Drummond bellowed at once without a care for the casualty who fled the room muttering about ironing shirts behind his palms, ‘THAT I WAS NOT ENJOYING MYSELF, NOT AT ALL.’

‘REALLY?’ Alfred bellowed right back, slamming the door shut with such force a small painting of a vineyard fell on the floor with a crash. ‘LOOKED LIKE IT TO ME!’

‘DID IT?’

‘THAT’S RIGHT! YOU WERE ALL SMILES AND WINKS AT THOSE FRILLY-DRESSED WHORES!’

‘Oh, you DID notice, you DID care a LITTLE BIT for me? Oh, good! BECAUSE IT WAS ALL FOR YOU.’

‘FOR ME?!’

‘WHY would I have DONE that if it WASN’T because of YOU?’

‘I don’t know, you’re the one who was ENGAGED FOR FOUR YEARS AND DIDN’T EVEN TELL ME ABOUT IT FOR TWO OF THEM!’

‘I WAS ONLY ENGAGED BECAUSE I HAD TO.’

‘RIGHT! Edward Drummond Esq. of ten thousand a year, or twenty thousand, whoever knows…’

Edward laughed gleefully. ‘SIXTY thousand plus some Highland estates and investments.’

Alfred ignored him: ‘… whose father is the president of Drummonds Bank, the Queen of England’s bloody bank of choice, who is also a healthy, fair-skinned, handsome, free, young man, and who incidentally has not one but THREE other brothers to carry on the family name: OH POOR YOU, YOU JUST ABSOLUTELY HAD TO PROPOSE TO SOME GIRL, YOU HAD NO CHOICE!’

‘Yes, Alfred, you know, that’s how honourable people go about coupling,’ Edward replied with an atrociously patronising tone. ‘They first talk, introduce their parents to one another, a proposal follows, an engagement, they then get married, and _then_ share a bed. NOT THE OTHER WAY ROUND. And you’re surprised to be used and discarded by men who can’t even commit to a yearly subscription to the Times, let alone a person?’

‘Ohhh, you are just going places you do NOT want to go Edward.’

‘Oh, I believe that from _you_ , who _has_ been around.’

‘Well, one of us has to know where to stick what.’

‘Are you saying I was bad!?’

‘Not bad… for an amateur.’

‘You seemed to enjoy this amateur thoroughly.’

Alfred didn’t have an immediate comeback to it – and Edward had delivered that jab so boldly and confidently – he couldn’t lie about this, Edward was surprisingly amazing in bed.

‘But I suppose you prefer a musician’s hands,’ Edward said while he had the field.

‘If you are talking about Michael—’

‘Did you _have_ to flirt with him?’

‘I was not flirting!’

‘I saw him pull you behind a bush last night. Do you really deny that happened?’

A lull in their shouting match set in. Alfred stared at Edward in a strange sort of way, and Edward sensed he crossed a line.

‘I was not flirting,’ Alfred repeated quietly.

He wasn’t shouting anymore, not at all. Quite the opposite. Perhaps this was worse than if he had, Edward thought as a chill ran down his spine and the sun seemed to hide behind a cloud above the estate.

‘You did disappear in the garden with him, though. I saw it with my own eyes.’

‘Yes. I did do that.’

‘Why, Alfred?’

Alfred went completely quiet for long seconds. He was glaring absently at something on the carpet. And then, it came.

‘You want to know why? Because I was _bawling_ ,’ Alfred confessed with veins pulsing on his neck even more than when he was shouting. This was no foolish match of insults anymore, he was in real pain. As soon as he said it, last night’s tears returned to haunt him. ‘I w-was… I was distraught and thus sobbing, m-miserably. S-sobbing! HAPPY NOW?’

Edward didn’t like to see Alfred in such a state but his blood was still boiling.

‘Why?’ he demanded.

‘Why?! Because of you!’

Alfred cursed his tears. They were in the way and he had to fight to get his words out through them.

‘Because I don’t know what to do, Edward! For years, my love grew for you, even when I wished it would not. I rode day and night on _horseback_ to Paris and back to free you from your engagement. I have put my faith in you and vowed to commit to you because I love you and I will never love anyone else like I love you. Nor _have_ I. Not like this.’

The more Alfred kept running his fingers through his hair the madder he appeared. But he wasn’t pathetic, he was danger personified.

‘You said… you _said_ you accept me as I am. And yet… I know what you were trying to do. I watched you all night. You were trying to hurt me.’

‘I wasn’t…’

‘Yes, you were. You were trying to hurt me. Punish me. For something over which I have no power. And now I don’t know what to do because I don’t want to lose you and I don’t want to spoil it but I cannot change the past, I _cannot_ change what is past, I cannot, I cannot, _I cannot_ , Edward, I cannot even if I shed my skin and sold my soul, I cannot change it, I _cannot_!’

‘Alfred, stop, my love...’

Edward was worried Alfred would harm himself in his state. He wanted to approach him, to grab him by the wrists and bear him to calm down and stop pacing around but Alfred was oozing such a sizzling energy, like an Ancient Greek god on the cusp of destroying a town with a bolt of lightning.

‘I don’t know what you want from me,’ Alfred continued desperately, searching through his tears for a solution that felt in his grasp but was quite unobtainable. ‘I don’t know, Edward. I knew there would be something, some way that I would spoil this. You are too good to be true. I just didn’t know I had already committed my mistakes.’

‘Alfred, no, my love…’

‘I just didn’t think I would ever… I’m sorry, Edward. I am sorry if it bothers you that I had loved others before you. I did. I fucked other men, happy? I _fucked_ them and I was enjoying it.’

‘Shh…’ Edward glanced fearfully at the gardens lest anyone heard them and closed the windows.

‘All I can say in my defence,’ Alfred added even more loudly and with some sarcasm steeping into his tone, ‘is that I did not imagine I would ever find someone like you. Someone who would want to commit to me in the daylight not only by night. You might not understand this, in fact, I’m sure you do not.’

‘I will understand if I could just—’

‘No, you do not understand, not really. _You_ had the idea that you would marry one day and build a family and you kept yourself to the rules that precede all that. The way it is _done_. I never imagined that for myself.’

‘Please… What, did you think you would live your life alone?’ Edward asked as if that was a ridiculous notion.

‘Yes. I did.’

Edward fell quiet with dread at the straightforward answer. Alfred was driven yet more savage by this somehow.

‘So I am deeply sorry if I did not think to keep myself virginal for you before I had even met you. If you want an untouched flower, please, be my guest and knock on the door of one of the many marriageable ladies with whom you danced last night! I’m sure Florence has a sister, I’m sure I have several. Say the word and I’ll introduce you.’

‘Alfred, stop, I beg you. This is beneath us.’

Alfred wiped his eyes on his sleeves and leaned against a bedpost, somehow very tired.

‘I did not expect to meet someone like you, so I wasn’t living my life that way. I’m sorry. But I am also not sorry,’ he said, facing Edward pointedly. ‘Have you ever entertained the thought that perhaps I have a healthier idea about these things than you or virtuous people who barely know their spouses before they vow to spend their whole lives together and then they are surprised when they are unhappy? Men who propose without knowing themselves, maidens who don’t know what to expect on their wedding night and are thus scarred for life? Would you prefer me that way? Innocent and ignorant? Because I am neither. Proudly so. And now nor are you. Would you go back to your ignorance?’

‘No, I… Alfred that’s not at all what I…’

‘Because you are also a bloody hypocrite, you know.’

‘Alfred?!’

‘You are. If you want to shame me into beating myself up for my past actions that I cannot erase, perhaps you need a reminder of what you have put me through. I have lived with not only your presence for years, but yours _and_ that of your fiancée. Every day, every conversation, every plan that involved you had to involve _her_ also. Just because you did not bed her that doesn’t mean you are better than me. At least I never pursued you whilst being tied to someone else.’

Edward was awash with guilt and shame at that. He had not considered that for a single second in his jealousy over Alfred’s past lovers.

‘When I learned you were engaged, I even missed William—no, not missed, envied. You have made me envy William,’ Alfred went on, disappointed at himself. ‘Lucky he, who can live for his pleasures without getting attached! Unfortunately, that’s not me. I love you. I love you, Edward, and you are breaking my heart. I did not expect you would ever mean to hurt me. On purpose, that is.’

Edward wished he could go back in time, too, only to kick himself, the self that thought it an excellent idea to try and make Alfred jealous for something that was only an assumption. After all, he had no evidence that Alfred had really meant to see Michael, or that he had any sort of affair with him. Once it all flooded his mind he flopped into a chair and started positively weeping and apologising as best as he could even while his voice was failing him.

Alfred took a step back from unloading his truth on Edward. In fact, despite his vexation, he could not help but soften, get over himself, and scoot close to Edward on the carpet by his feet.

‘I apologise, too. Deeply. Edward. Look at me, tell me you forgive me.’

‘You do not need my forgiveness,’ Edward croaked through sobs.

‘I just shouted at you and called you a bloody hypocrite.’

Edward chuckled wetly. ‘I deserved it.’

‘No, you did not.’

‘I probably did,’ Edward sniffed. ‘I asked my valet to find out whether you’d taken anyone to bed.’

‘I know, and I asked him to throw my shoe at you.’

‘He didn’t, by the way.’

‘Then he is a wiser man than I am.’

‘And I.’

‘Let us never do this again, Edward. It pained me. You are just the most admirable man, there is nothing I can actually say to insult you without lying.’

‘The same could be said of you.’

‘So no more shouting.’

‘Never, I promise.’

‘No more games.’

‘God, no.’

‘And I promise never to bring up your past against you. As long as you do the same.’

‘Naturally.’

‘Thank you. I trust you, Edward. You need to trust me, too.’

‘I do. This time I truly promise I do.’

Alfred looked deeply into Edward’s eyes and was happy to see no trace of lies.

‘And just one more thing, my love, in the spirit of absolute peace,’ he added seriously, taking Edward’s hands in his. ‘I understand your right to be angry at me, especially when I am as foolish as I was just now. But I ask you not to extend your venom to Michael.’

Edward pulled a face.

‘Please. You are a good person. Better than I am.’

‘That is not true.’

‘You are kinder than I deserve,’ Alfred said sadly, running his hand down Edward’s cheek. ‘I did not speak to you for a time when you told me you were engaged. I shouldn’t have done that.’

‘You were right to keep your distance.’

‘No, I… I did the same when Michael invited me to his own wedding. You remember I told you that?’

‘You burned his letter.’

Alfred mentally cursed himself. ‘I should have been a good sport and supported him when he needed me. Because he, Edward, is not so unlike you. Only, he married his Florence. He lives the life that you would have. Like you, he felt a noose tightening around his neck at the time until he nearly… he contemplated… taking his own life.’

‘No…’

‘Well, as you can see, he is fine. But I, shamefully, was not there for him as a friend. He had no one to confide in, no one to advise him, let alone rescue him from his own choices. Not one friend. Now, he may have two. I do not know you as a person that would deny him that. Please, Edward, let me make amends with an old friend and allow yourself to make a new one.’

Edward listened attentively to Alfred.

‘I am so sorry, Alfred. I did not conclude half of this. I was blinded by my jealousy.’

Weirdly, Alfred was brought to a smile.

‘No one’s ever been jealous for me.’ Then, Alfred caught himself: ‘I’m not saying this is a good thing!’ He was feeling very flattered anyway.

‘I’m afraid I will always be jealous for you,’ Edward confessed. ‘I am jealous of the ladies at court for having the privilege of so much of your time, of the men who have squandered and wasted your love and affection, I am jealous of the very ground beneath your feet.’

‘The ground?’ Alfred asked, amused and wooed.

‘Of course. How lucky it is that you walk on it!’ Edward emphasised, descending to kneel on the carpet level with Alfred. ‘I should love to swap places with it if the alternative was losing you.’

‘But I would never walk over you, my darling. Never.’

‘Nor would I. God, Alfred, I am so sorry,’ Edward said again, leaning against Alfred, forehead to forehead, nose to nose. ‘I never meant to hurt you. I had no idea. Truly. I only meant to… I don’t know what I was thinking, to be honest. In truth, I detested all that dancing.’

Alfred chuckled. ‘You looked so fine doing it.’

‘Maybe but I was feeling sick from all those perfumes in my nose. I wasn’t winking at those young ladies, I was holding back sneezes.’

They were brought to a fit of laughter at that.

‘What have we learnt?’ Alfred asked, cupping Edward’s now dry face with gentle hands.

‘To not be jealous?’

‘Well, yes, but I admit I will probably fail miserably at that as well. Particularly when ladies look at you like they did last night. Sixty thousand? Really? If they knew! But now you know never again to listen to Harriet when she has a reason to get back at you. We shall have to concoct a revenge prank on her for this.’

Edward laughed despite a couple of tears escaping his eyes.

Alfred laughed with him and leaned in for a sweet kiss to seal their peace. No more arguments, no more games, just honesty and love.

The servant’s hidden door opened too quietly for either of them to notice.

‘Perhaps I came too early,’ Wood said.

They fled apart in fright. Edward knew he was supposed to say something since it was his valet but what could one say? He looked to Alfred for guidance.

 _Now you like my experience?_ Alfred wanted to ask. However, for all the things he had got up to in the past, this was new.

‘Uh, your shirts are ironed, my lord,’ Wood said awkwardly and placed a stack of neatly folded clothes on the bed. His nose was purple and his nostrils had been stuffed with rolled-up bits of linen. ‘Will you be wanting yours in your room, Mr Drummond?’

‘Wood,’ Edward began, standing. He searched his mind for some kind of explanation. His headache returned with a vengeance at the same time. ‘I… w-we were just—’

‘I won’t blab, sir,’ the valet said, taking a step back instinctively, now that he knew Mr Drummond’s strength first hand. ‘I just need to know whether you wish to dress or take a bath or uh…’

‘But Wood…’

‘Sir, you don’t need to explain. I’m your valet.’

Edward looked to Alfred, pleading for advice but Alfred was just as clueless.

‘Would you like some money?’ Edward asked awkwardly.

The valet frowned in surprise, and if he was honest, in offence.

Alfred buried his face in his hands in second-hand embarrassment. Sometimes he forgot Edward was from a family of bankers.

‘Well, I hope to be paid my fair wages as usual, sir.’

‘But Wood, I beg you not to report us.’

‘Sir, we are in France. There is nothing to report. Not that I would. Now, uh… your clothes, Mr Drummond?’

Edward looked to Alfred.

‘He’s right. Code Napoleon,’ Alfred said, shrugging.

Code Napoleon. That was correct. Sir Robert and his prudery be damned.

‘I think we need to pack,’ Edward said with a sudden revelation.

‘What?’ Lord Alfred asked.

‘Sir?’ the valet questioned also.

‘We have been invited to a friend’s chateau. Apparently it is a good place to convalesce. For you, more than for me, Wood,’ Edward said guiltily. ‘And Wilson.’

Alfred came up to them. ‘Where? Who?’ he asked.

Edward produced Michael’s note and let Alfred read it in full.

‘Well, you heard Mr Drummond, Wood. We had better start packing.’


	16. The Price of Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to know a bit more about Michael through the boys' eyes and about how he views his life, Alfred, and his purpose.

Edward was glad he listened to Alfred. Mr Michael Walsh was a most agreeable young man.

It helped his cause that his chateau in the Loire Valley proved to be just as excellent a place to spend the last warm weeks of September as promised. One could go riding for miles here, and rowing, hiking, and even fencing, which Drummond used to consider one of his lesser favoured sporting activities but since Michael was just such a laugh even as he pushed him to do better, he began to be very fond of it. Quite unlike Edward’s shouty instructor in his youth. He said he also taught and encouraged his workmen and footmen to play – given he was otherwise surrounded by women. After all, one could only let his two and a half-year-old daughter win so many times before wishing for a partner of one’s equal height, such as Mr Drummond.

Michael was keen to take his guests on a tour of the wine cellars as well, which were blissfully cool unlike the stinging rays of sunshine outdoors. He could talk for hours and hours about grapes as they strolled down hedges after hedges of it – his vineyards spreading out on the hillsides as far as the eye could see. The more he learned, the more questions Drummond asked, not only about winemaking but about anything and everything. They would talk about linguistics, politics, botany, music, books, the climate, the recent renovations on the chateau, and even cheese culturing, in great detail.

In great, great detail.

Alfred could not say he was as enthusiastic about every single topic as Edward but since he was glad that Edward and Michael were getting off on the absolutely rightest foot, he did not squeak a word about it and walked along hedges of grapes and newly plastered corridors and pungent shelves of brie with his arms linked behind his back and a mildly interested expression on his face.

Perhaps he sometimes excused himself for an afternoon nap, citing the excuse of the temperature rising high and making him drowsy. Edward and Michael were such fast friends they could be left alone without their mutual acquaintance’s presence soon enough. Perhaps there was an initial awkwardness, but that had been broken by Alfred’s unexpected burst of honesty the night of the reception, when he was so distraught by Edward’s behaviour in the ballroom that he couldn’t help but confide in an old friend. Michael listened to him without judgement. He could offer little advice, but a listening ear, he could do—and this invitation, sensing it would solve any quarrel.

Alfred could use these naps anyway as this way he could savour his energy for the night. Michael, knowing his true relationship to Drummond, housed them in neighbouring rooms, far from others, which was quite… convenient.

Edward sensed Alfred was missing him—in his defence, the estate was truly fascinating. He had spent so long in London, and one could hardly make wine in Scotland. Sacrificing so much of his time to learn more about life here, he missed Alfred, too, especially that they never got to truly diffuse the tension of that argument.

Therefore… he thought he would surprise Alfred one night by sneaking into his room and waiting for him to come back from the bathroom, more than ready for him. After all, he would whisper hotly into Alfred’s hear, Edward was an amateur, was he not? He needed lessons.

Well, Edward was well-educated within a couple of weeks. Even if it meant that he had to get off his saddle on a morning ride earlier than he wanted to. It was worth it. He could safely say he no longer feared he was clumsy and he definitely had no reason to be insecure anymore.

He was so happy, he gave his valet three whole days off to enjoy. Wood’s nose was mending well. The warm weather brought Wilson back to life soon enough, too.

As the days went by, however, Alfred began to miss Edward more and more. He really was glad of the friendship between him and Michael but even so: how much could one discuss the ageing process of cheese?!

This was not jealousy – oh, no, he learned that lesson at Florence’s wedding very well. However, Alfred felt like he was back at Buckingham Palace, spending his days looking at garden flowers and sipping tea with the ladies: Miss Coke, the Duchess of Sutherland, and, since she was the chatelaine of this chateau, Michael’s wife.

Though Alfred didn’t let this on with a single twitch of an eyebrow, he found the idea of Michael having a wife and children absolutely uncanny if he was honest. He remembered Michael as a boy of 15-16, his cheeks still plump with baby fat, his smiley, boyish face, that blush and those cute dimples every time his face lit up with a smile, his eyes curious about everything but painfully soft-spoken. Since when was he the reigning king of an entire estate, with a wife, two small children and a third one on the way, and a beard?! On a bonier, wearier face, too.

He did not believe Michael was unhappy. Edward also voiced this observation to him one night when sleep would not come to them yet despite having exhausted themselves in various parts of the bedroom. He could not see how Michael was the kind of person that would have considered ending it all because he could not face this future, which was idyllic on the outside but must have been difficult from Michael’s point of view at times.

This man was their age but an established father, the patriarch of a family that was vaster than his immediate relations and therefore came with a whole host of responsibilities. He always had a smile for everyone, whether distinguished guest, his children scraping their knees, or a gardener’s assistant who did an excellent job with the hedges. Always a good word for everyone. In fact, he made one feel as if they were telling him the most interesting thing in the whole wide world. He was uncommonly kind and a warm person when in his element.

It was a mystery to Edward, therefore, why Michael called himself a recluse. It was true, neither he nor Alfred missed the fact that he preferred to take a seat at the piano rather than chat to one another after dinner. He said he spent more time talking to his grapevines than to people on regular days. He might spend days outdoors painting the landscape. And Mrs Walsh let slip that he liked to be left to his own devices in his rooms and studies.

‘He’s always inventing something or crafting something, or planning something to that effect,’ she said, her kind, bright eyes just barely masking the sadness behind them. ‘He is very talented. We all marvel at his creations – even if it means he disappears for days.’

Alfred and Edward shared a loaded look across the coffee table at that. Edward, especially, felt guilty. He would have been the exact same if he had married Florence. He would have regarded it his duty of honour to deliver to promises and responsibilities as a husband, a father, and a homeowner, but as a person, he would have been broken when it came to real matters, matters which were never to be shared with anyone, to do with his love of Alfred.

How long could one live without love when one was so capable of it? Alfred asked himself each day, thinking of Michael, glad, _so very, very glad_ , that Edward escaped that fate.

‘I believe that is down to your masterful conniving, my love,’ Edward would reply to him, even as he was set on marking Alfred’s glistening, bare neck with kisses in the night. ‘My knight in shining armour. My hero.’

‘I thought you were the hero,’ Alfred giggled, fighting off how ticklish Edward’s lips were.

‘I thought you wanted to show me something new tonight?’ Edward countered, depriving Alfred of sensations until Alfred mock-reluctantly agreed and they ended up ripping a heavy curtain off a bedpost in the heat of passion.

Wood did not even question it in the morning. He simply stitched up the curtain as neatly as he could after the servants’ lunch. At the end of the day, Lord Alfred’s valet, Wilson, filled him in on a lot of secrets that had gone over his head these past few years.

‘In Scotland!?’

Wilson hummed noncommittally under his breath as he was trying to finish a letter by candle-light one evening and simultaneously answering Wood’s burning questions about Mr Drummond and Lord Alfred and when they—and what—and how—and what now?

‘I don’t know,’ Wilson mumbled, carefully pressing the blotting paper on his finished letter. ‘Suppose just go on as usual. What else?’

‘Right…’

‘What?’

‘I just worry, that’s all. If Mr Drummond goes down, what about my pay? My reference?’

‘We’re in France.’

‘That’s what I said but we’re going back to London soon enough and then what?’

‘Keep ironing, keep sewing, as usual, and keep your mouth shut.’

‘Lord Alfred never had you worried?’

‘Just annoyed on occasions he didn’t tell me he wouldn’t come back to the Palace all night – missed out on sleep that way, didn’t I? But I suppose all gentlemen do that, whether out with friends or with the women of Camden Town. Can I blow yours?’

‘What?’ Wood asked.

‘That there, your candle,’ Wilson replied, indicating the only burning candle in their room, on Wood’s bedside table. ‘We ought to sleep, I’m knackered, mate.’

‘Oh, right,’ Wood caught on and blew out the candle.

‘Stop it,’ Wilson mumbled from his bed.

‘I didn’t say anything!’

‘Stop thinking so hard, it’s keeping me from sleep!’

‘I’m not thinking… How long have you known about Lord Alfred?’

Wilson sighed. ‘Can’t remember. Does it matter?’

‘Not sure. Never thought of it too much, come to think of it.’

‘Come off it, Wood, you’re telling me you’ve never…’

‘Never what?’

Wilson chuckled. ‘Good night, and try not to snore this time.’

*

Alfred caught up with Edward on a walk in the garden, splitting with excitement, patted his shoulders, and checked they were well out of everyone else’s earshot.

‘I’ve got it,’ he whispered to him gleefully.

‘What?’ Edward asked, raising his eyebrows with suspicion.

‘How to get back at Harriet.’

Edward stopped walking.

‘Alfred. I thought we were over it, that we were going to let it go. No harm done.’

‘Right. Of course. Over it,’ Alfred agreed, looking like an angel in the sunlight. ‘So I was thinking…’

Edward sighed and listened. He didn’t even notice when they reached the greenhouses, where Michael was doing some weeding with his own hands, kneeling in the dirt. He wasn’t alone for a change: he was teaching his daughters about plants, though they were more interested in playing tag, which they did around Edward’s legs as well.

‘I apologise. I do not know where my daughters get their energy from,’ Michael said, rising on his feet, with muddy knees and gloves. ‘I ought to take them back to the house to get clean before lunch.’

‘Why don’t I?’ Edward suggested, surprising him and Alfred. ‘I ought to get back and write a letter anyway,’ he added, tapping the side of his nose covertly at Alfred. The plan, this had something to do with the plan! But Alfred was hesitant. ‘You haven’t had a moment alone since we got here,’ he told him privately.

‘But…’

‘Talk. Really,’ Edward insisted, then turned to the tiny girls. ‘Who wants to ride Mr Drummond’s back like a horse?’

‘Meeeee!’ said the girls at once, climbing on Edward, who pretended to be their loyal horse and galloped all the way down the garden paths back to the house.

‘He’d make a good father, Mr Drummond would!’ Michael remarked and then immediately noticing himself he changed his tone. ‘I’m sorry, Alfred, I didn’t mean to imply that he should…’

‘It’s quite alright,’ Alfred replied sheepishly. ‘It’s you who makes a good one.’

‘Me, I’m just…’

‘There’s nothing “just” about you or the life you’ve created, Michael,’ Alfred insisted with genuine awe and respect. ‘I hardly recognise you, truth be told.’

Michael shrugged, also sheepish as was his nature.

‘This is certainly not the kind of family where the children are only brought down for fifteen minutes a day during tea,’ he said, to the plants around his feet rather than to Alfred. ‘Not the way I was brought up.’

‘No, indeed – hence why I took you home between terms. So you can see how we live.’

‘The Paget way has certainly impacted me!’ Michael joked and Alfred cracked up. ‘Perhaps not as scandalously.’

Alfred felt conflicted at that – he knew Michael enjoyed summers at Plas Newydd but was there a heavier sentiment lurking there?

‘Are you saying I was a bad influence on you?’ Alfred half-teased, though he was asking seriously in his heart of hearts.

Michael did not give a direct answer. ‘Will you walk with me?’ he asked instead and they set off towards the vineyards in the sun.

‘Aren’t you hot in that?’ Michael asked, seeing as Alfred was dressed very properly, all the layers, and in fine silks and brocades, except a top hat. ‘And your skin – aren’t you going to burn?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Alfred lied.

‘Here, take mine,’ Michael insisted, taking off his straw hat.

‘No, no, no, I can’t.’

‘Take it! I’m fine in the sun, always have been.’

‘No, keep it.’

‘Take it!’

‘No, I…’

Michael stuffed the hat on Alfred’s head anyway until Alfred cracked up and gave in, among fits of giggles.

Michael was laughing out loud, too, for the first time in forever.

‘Happy?’ Alfred asked, adjusting the hat and taking off his stifling overcoat. ‘I must look ridiculous.’

‘Not as ridiculous when you fell into the Menai Strait.’

‘I did NOT fall!’

‘Ah yes, the horse threw you. Right.’

‘I did not FALL.’

‘Whatever you say.’

‘Oh, my God!’ Alfred huffed.

Michael snorted to himself. ‘And I thought you said grudges are for the lowly.’

Alfred wanted to retort with something clever but then he remembered he had very much held a grudge, a stupid one, for so long against his friend.

‘Michael, I, uh… Now that we’re here and I am not weeping like a child over a misunderstanding… I wanted to apologise.’

‘For what?’

‘You know what,’ Alfred replied, growing quiet for shame. ‘I should have been there for you. I should have gone to your wedding. I should have written back at least.’

‘Why didn’t you?’ Michael asked. He wasn’t accusatory but his curiosity got the better of him.

Alfred struggled to reply.

‘It’s alright, I told you. I just can’t think why. I didn’t think I would offend you with it.’

‘You didn’t, it wasn’t that.’ Alfred stopped walking. ‘I was distraught when you left.’

‘I was seventeen, Alfred. I could hardly say no to my family.’

‘I know, now I know that. I do not blame you. But at the time it felt like you wanted to leave me. I thought you’d had enough of me. That I’d done something wrong. That’s why you didn’t want me to even write.’

‘On the contrary, I thought I did the honourable thing.’

‘By leaving me alone?’

‘By setting you free to live your life as normal, knowing it would be ages, if ever, till I would go back to Britain.’

‘But why didn’t you at least stay to finish the last term?’

‘The Headmaster found out I was a Catholic.’

Alfred swore under his breath and composed himself. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know until you wrote to me to invite me to your wedding just how hurt I’d been. I made some bad choices for a long time.’

‘Not as bad as I.’

‘You mean… this? Your beautiful estate and loving family? My mistakes were more of the Paget-like sort. But let’s not talk about that.’

‘Mr Drummond doesn’t seem like a mistake.’

‘No, he is not,’ Alfred agreed. ‘I see you have become good friends.’

‘He is a brilliant young man. And so fond of you—well, for good reason—he can’t seem to stop talking about you on our outings.’

‘And here I thought he was just fascinated by cheese!’

‘Ha! Well, that too, but I think he’s just delighted to have an opportunity to gush about you to someone… who… it’s nice to be able to talk freely sometimes, I suppose.’

They kept walking. The awkwardness was palpable in the air perfumed by ripe grapes for miles around them. Alfred could have asked about the estate, about the wedding, about the soil but he knew what he really wanted to ask. Now, or never, he decided.

‘Were we in love, Michael?’

‘W-well, th-that’s a question.’

‘I think we were. I know I was. We were little older than children but I think… I loved you very much. Did you ever… meet someone else? Whom you loved?’

‘I am married, Alfred,’ Michael said to try and dodge the question.

‘But in a real way?’

‘Goodness, who’s to say what’s real? What’s more real than marriage, Alfred?’

‘You know what I mean.’

Michael stayed silent, in fact, he busied himself with sorting out some loose vines on the hedge behind him. Alfred suspected he was just avoiding his gaze.

‘Did you marry because you were lonely?’ Alfred couldn’t help but ask.

Michael chipped off some dead leaves. ‘No.’

‘You weren’t lonely?’

‘I was. But loneliness did not make me want to marry, it made me want to end it all.’

Alfred fell silent, his heart breaking a little anew for his friend.

‘Then, why?’

‘Alfred…’

‘Please, humour me,’ Alfred asked gently brushing a hand down Michael’s arm, the routine of familiarity never fazing either of them. ‘I wasn’t a good friend for a long time. No friend at all. Let me make it up to you. As you know Edward was engaged until not that long ago and sorting it out was a close shave. I just want to know how a man like us gets himself into such a situation that has always been unthinkable to me. I just want to understand.’

Michael sighed and reluctantly faced him. ‘You know why I married. I’ve no brothers. There was no other choice. I do love my family. My children…’

‘And your wife? You are never in the same room for long.’

‘We are on good terms. There is no resentment. Honestly.’

Alfred observed Michael for a second.

‘Oh,’ he said, blushing red. ‘You don’t resent her. You are _embarrassed_.’

‘Must we discuss this, Alfred?’

‘With whom else would you discuss it?’

‘No one, I might suggest.’

‘Are you embarrassed in front of me?’ Michael pretended he didn’t hear him. ‘She is expecting your third child.’ Michael gulped and nodded. ‘How long are you going to carry this on for?’ Alfred interrogated further. ‘Until… there’s a boy?’

‘Yes, Alfred,’ Michael confessed. ‘Until there is a boy.’

‘And if there isn’t one?’

‘Then I shall love my daughters, and the estate will be inherited by my eldest’s husband.’

‘And if she doesn’t want to marry?’

‘They must marry.’

‘Michael!’

‘Alright, fine, Alfie! Stuff it, now, will you? By George!’ Michael exclaimed, throwing up his arms in defeat, sounding more like himself as Alfred remembered. ‘I don’t know! It does dishearten me to think my life’s work will go to a stranger one day. Perhaps that is materialistic and selfish of me but this is what I have, and God. Don’t look at me that way, I know I am not perfect but I am a believer, and before you say anything, divorce is not an option for us. I shall try to make the most of it all. It does help more than you can imagine that I know you are no longer angry at me.’

‘Do you judge me? Me and Edward?’

‘No, of course not. Don’t you know me better than that?’

‘A long time has passed since we…’

‘It’s not up to me to judge, Alfred. I can certainly not cast the first stone. To each their own.’

‘And what about your “own.” What about love?’

Michael was shaking his head.

‘This isn’t London, Alfred,’ he interrupted, with more passion upon Alfred wanting to insist further. ‘You are right, I did fall in love with you. I don’t mind admitting that to you. We had some happy times. I might have wrestled with my faith because of that for some time but I have made my peace with it and I will look back on those days with fondness for the rest of my life. However, as you said, a long time has passed since then. There are more important things in my life now than my own fancies. I am responsible for my wife, my children, my parents, my whole family, and my workers, the village, this region in a little part. What am I supposed to do? I have been persecuted out of home once.’

‘Things are getting better, the emancipation—’

‘I’ve made a life here. I’m not like you, Alfred. I cannot risk it all for my own…’

‘Happiness?’

Michael faltered and opened his mouth to reply but a worker approached them and asked about the presses and the marquees for the festival. Michael told him he’ll be there in a minute to sort it all out.

‘What festival?’ Alfred asked.

‘It was going to be a surprise,’ Michael explained, walking Alfred back to the house. ‘It’s an old tradition. The villagers are invited to come to the grounds and there are tours of the vineyards, the cellars, a wine market, lots of food of course, and music. We do this every September. Before we bought, the previous owners never let the villagers in and it caused much feuding and antagonism. We have a different approach and the locals have accepted us, especially that we put the revenues into a new school and a paved main road so as to allow the elderly to go to church by cart more easily.’

‘I had no idea.’

‘We are not nobility, _Lord_ Alfred. We are on the same side as the peasants, more or less. Tensions are rising in Paris and we don’t want it to upset life here with our presence.’

‘So Eden opens its gates. How tempting.’

‘Precisely. Besides, we think it would be a shame if these beautiful grapes went unseen and unadmired.’

Michael took out a knife and selected a fine bunch of ripe, red grapes for Alfred.

‘Even if the time comes when they must be reaped.’

Alfred accepted the fruit.

‘So that they can bring joy to us in another way?’ he asked, making Michael smile.

‘Something like that.’


	17. Be Careful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We say goodbye to France.

‘Careful… oh, f… careful… oh, my… Wilson, this feels…’

‘Stay still now, Wood.’

‘Gently.’

‘I’m hardly touching you!’

‘I’m just not sure if we should do this.’

‘Easy… just lie back. It’s still swollen.’

‘OW!’ Wood’s hand flew up to his nose.

‘I said stay still!’ Wilson tutted, trying to get close.

‘And I said be careful!’

‘You asked me to do this,’ Wilson reasoned, losing patience with the younger valet.

He was presently crouched over Wood in a chair, trying to tilt his face towards the light and examine his nose. It was still a bit purple but after testing it for signs of cracking, he decided it wasn’t broken. Wood went stiff as Wilson leaned closer and felt the bridge of his nose ever so gently with his hands.

‘Well… it seems fairly straight. Careful at the fete tonight, though. Don’t let any girl from the village lure you into the grapevine,’ Wilson jested with a cheeky wink. ‘But other than that, you’ll be fine, lad.’

Wood was lost for words. In his rush to please Mr Drummond, and then Lord Alfred while his fellow valet was down with a cold, he didn’t realise what a nice chap Wilson was. He was ever so kind to examine his injured nose and he really had the most brilliantly green eyes paired with dark, honey-blonde curls, and even for a valet he smelled so nice—he made a mental note to ask him about the products he used. It was quite a perfume now that they were mere inches away.

‘What is it, Wood? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

Wood woke from his reverie as soon as Wilson stepped away. A quick look in the mirror and he was gone, eager to join the festivities.

As for Wood, he was required by Mr Drummond before he could join the celebrations.

‘Are you satisfied, sir?’ he asked once he was done with what turned out to be a quick trim of Mr Drummond’s hair in the back.

Drummond was sitting in front of his vanity while his valet held up a mirror reflecting the back of his head.

‘Yes, just what I wanted, Wood. Thank you! I don’t believe I had had a haircut since before I was shot.’

Wood just carefully discarded the towel and brushed any stray hairs off Drummond’s shoulders. He was good to go. This meant Wood was free to go to the garden and mingle with people, too. He didn’t much feel like dancing if he was honest.

‘You look awfully grim for a man about to join a party, Wood,’ Drummond remarked—he, on the other hand, was glad to spend the last night of their stay with such a warm send-off.

‘I’m sure I’ll cheer up after a glass of wine, don’t worry about me, sir,’ Wood replied with a feeble smile.

Edward found that odd. ‘So you _are_ upset? If it’s your nose, Wood, I’m ever so sorry—’

‘It’s not my nose, Mr Drummond, honestly. Let us forget it.’

‘Then what is it? Can I help?’

‘Well… You see… I just wondered…’

‘If it’s a pay raise, the answer is yes. I’m not about to say no to a man holding a sharpened blade.’

Wood put away the scissors. ‘No, it’s not that, sir. Can I ask you a question? Man to man?’

Edward tried to pretend he understood and braced himself. ‘Of course, Wood. Ask me anything.’

‘How did you know you fancied Lord Alfred?’

Edward flushed with embarrassment, though butterflies seemed to dance in his belly.

‘I’m not sure how to answer this question. I just knew. Not overnight. It dawned on me over the course of many, many months. I suppose I hadn’t truly known until I… Well, I kissed him. And then, it was as undeniable as the fact that the sky is blue.’

‘So you needed to kiss him to know.’

‘I didn’t _need_ to, per se, but it certainly confirmed my feelings unequivocally. Why do you ask, Wood?’

‘No reason.’

Edward got a bit worried. ‘Is it because you disapprove? As I’ve said, I will give you anything to compensate for your troubles. If you would prefer to resign, I will make sure your employment does not suffer.’

‘I have no mind to report you, Mr Drummond. It was just a question,’ Wood said firmly. ‘Now, uh, may I be dismissed, sir?’

‘Of course,’ Edward replied and his valet was out the door in a flash. ‘Have… have fun.’

*

The wine festival was in full swing by the late afternoon. The green landscape and the ivy of the chateau’s stone walls were basking in the soft orange light, the aromas of wines, roasts, cheeses, bread, cakes, yet more cakes, and fruit filled the air, and the band from the village, lead by a real fiddle-virtuoso, never tired of playing lively folk songs.

Miss Coke never looked more radiant—Lord Alfred wasn’t the only one that told her the sun did wonders to her complexion and she was sorry to leave such a beautiful region. Michael was busy doing his social rounds all evening, which was tasking for him, who ached for a quiet night with his paintbrushes or his piano, but he played his role well because his love for the locals and the estate was genuine. Edward and Alfred were already nostalgic for this place.

As for the Duchess of Sutherland, as always she was the beauty of the party. If only she hadn’t been driven absolutely mad all night!

‘I cannot believe you did this!’ she hissed at Lord Alfred. If looks could kill!

Unfortunately, every time the Duchess tried to converse with anyone, they would have a sneezing fit. This was a prank that everyone in the world, from Mr Michael Walsh to the dancing children from the village seemed to be in on.

‘How DID you even manage to—never mind. I do not apprecia—’

‘ACHOO!’ Alfred pretended to sneeze ever so theatrically so as to interrupt her scolding. ‘Excuse me, Duchess. It must be your perfume. I ought to step away…’

Alfred escaped and joined a jolly jig with Edward.

‘Don’t you DARE, Alfred— UGH!’

The Duchess was left to try to enjoy the evening without opening her mouth to speak. There was plenty of wine to go around, though, which was comforting. However, she did learn her lesson. No more giving ill advice to play with people’s hearts.

*

It was well after midnight by the time the celebrations started dwindling. The villagers were told they could leave their stands under the marquee and pick them up safely later. The household would even wash up the pots and pans for them. The last stragglers and couples old and young stayed for a few more ballads and incredible local folk tales— _see, I said we should have brought a cardigan_ —before walking home. The smoke of the dying bonfire was carried far away by a cool wind.

‘I don’t want to leave,’ Edward whispered against Alfred’s shoulder.

They had stolen away to their room hours ago with every intention to make the most of their last night in France. They were cooling off by the window, smoking in the gentle breeze, watching the sun rise over the vineyard-covered hills.

‘Nor do I,’ Alfred admitted, feeling snug spooned by Edward. ‘But we…’

‘We must.’

‘Don’t you miss your office? I don’t think I have heard you once talk about work. You’re not sick, are you?’

Edward chuckled. ‘I shall miss this more,’ he said, squeezing Alfred’s naked body to himself even tighter.

‘Sir Robert’s must miss your council yet more.’

Edward sighed heavily. ‘If he’s resigned, does this mean I have no more excuses to go to the Palace?’

‘Perhaps not as a messenger boy,’ Alfred teased him cheekily. ‘But as my guest, there is no reason why you could not come.’

‘I can’t, really. I have to be Her Majesty’s guest.’

‘I can put in a word whenever.’

‘Not too often.’

‘No, not too often, but… what’s wrong with your address in Mayfair? Surely, you can move out of Downing Street permanently and no one would raise an eyebrow.’

‘I fear my sister will find me bothersome but that is the plan indeed.’

‘Well, then. We are quite safe there.’

‘Won’t people find it strange if you show up every day? After all, I am no longer on bedrest, and journalists were still knocking on my door every day when we left.’

Alfred could not deny that was a problem.

‘What if… what if we made believe that I am courting your sister?’ he suggested.

Edward snorted. ‘You try telling her that idea!’ he said grimly but then, a new thought struck him: ‘What about your house?’

‘My house?’

‘Yes. We could meet there.’

‘I’m not sure what excuse I could give for my sudden fancy to move in all by myself.’

‘The house is yours.’

‘A house like that attracts attention.’

‘Then we shall keep it lying fallow in appearance. We have a key. That’s enough.’

‘Without the comforts of a properly kept house, my darling, it will be uncomfortable. Besides, if we overuse it, it will show.’

‘We shall be careful.’

‘We should always be careful,’ Alfred warned, turning around in Edward’s arms and feeling him, holding him against his own body, to commit every shape and curve to his memory. ‘I am not going to risk discovery. I have already almost lost you once. I will not do so a second time.’

‘Let’s go back to bed,’ Edward suggested seductively. Alfred made him insatiable. He was not sure how he would survive until they could next be together. Even now, he could not stop his hands from roaming Alfred’s body. ‘I believe we’ve still got an hour or two.’

‘An hour or _two_? Well, that’s enough for plenty of things… Are you sure you don’t want to sleep?’

‘We’ll sleep on the ship,’ Edward whispered quickly before giving in to his passion, impatiently pulling Alfred towards the bed and all the while kissing him greedily.

*

‘Will you write?’ was Michael’s question when all goodbyes had been said and every thanks and take cares exchanged, and Alfred was the last to get into the carriage.

The answer was evident: a very, very firm yes. Alfred squeezed Michael’s hand one last time, hoping it would linger long enough so as to keep his old friend from getting far too melancholic again.

‘And what are you smiling at, Miss Coke?’ he teased her once they’d been on the road less than 15 minutes.

‘I’m simply sorry to leave this most splendid place,’ she replied.

‘You do not seem sorry, you seem… elated!’

‘I believe Miss Coke has got an admirer,’ Harriet informed them, smirking behind her fan.

‘Really?! When did this happen!?’

‘Whilst you were waltzing around the estate with your handsome beau here,’ Harriet replied, making Drummond blush but not at all regretful.

‘Well, well, well!’ Alfred said, turning to Wilhelmina, who had no way to escape now, no matter how much she protested. ‘We have a long journey ahead! Do tell us everything!’


	18. Chess Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward has a slight household management problem and Alfred's experience comes to the rescue. Love is in the air as Miss Coke is also writing to a special someone. Alfred and Edward start to build a safe haven but the Duchess of Buccleuch has other plans...

It was nearly Christmas time. The first snow had fallen on London, dimming street noises and giving parks and buildings a picturesque, peaceful look. Children were building snowmen, their parents were shopping for presents, and the lovely songs of carol singers carried down the streets by night when one enjoyed a quiet night indoors, sitting down with a good book by a jolly fire.

‘You asked WHAT!?’ Edward asked, his voice going up an octave easily in his outrage.

Well, his quiet night had been spoiled in a flash as he jumped up, book flying off his lap, tea spilling everywhere, the atmosphere in the sitting room frozen.

‘Your valet asked me if he could kiss me. Just out of the blue!’ Cecilia repeated, arms crossed, livid, definitely forgetting to address Mr Drummond as a housemaid.

‘I didn’t just…’ Wood tried to say in his own defence but she cut in again.

‘That’s exactly what you did, you were just sewing, I was cutting vegetables, not talking—I don’t like to talk whilst cooking—and you suddenly asked me if you could kiss me! That’s what happened!’

‘That’s not all that happened, sir.’

_Ten minutes earlier…_

_Wood was downstairs, sewing one of many of Mr Drummond’s shirts that got mysteriously torn at the buttons again, deep in thought. On quite the far end of the kitchen table, Cecilia was cutting up vegetables, a sizeable knife in her hand, chopping away. They weren’t talking—Cecilia didn’t like talking whilst cooking._

_Then, suddenly, Wood stopped sewing and looked up at Cecilia._

_‘Cecilia, could I kiss you?’_

_Cecilia stopped mid-cutting, looked at Wood like he was mad, then simply dropped everything and ran upstairs to tell on him to Charlotte, and Charlotte in turn to tell on him to Edward._

‘Edward, please, just once, please, I haven’t punched anyone since Arthur said I couldn’t ride a horse because I was a girl when we were six. Please.’

‘Stop it, Charlotte, I’m trying to think,’ Edward grumbled, massaging his temples. ‘Tell me what happened one more time so I might try to understand this time.’

‘Your valet asked me if he could—!’

‘Yes, I know, Cecilia. I want to hear it from Wood.’

‘What more is there that he could say?!’

‘That’s what I’m trying to find out!’ Edward insisted, feeling like he was going crazy. ‘Wood? Why, WHY would you do such a thing?’

‘F-forgive me but I was only following your advice, sir.’

Charlotte and Cecilia turned on Edward as one, thinking he advised his valet to make a move on Cecilia and why would he do that and did he know he fancied her and Charlotte was threatening to punch him, too.

‘ENOUGH!’ Edward raised his voice. ‘I have never advised my valet to proposition Cecilia, let me make that quite, QUITE clear. Therefore, I ask you, Wood, to what on Earth is this in reference and when did I ever imply that this was a sound idea?! Because I do NOT remember ever encouraging you to do any such thing!’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Drummond, but you did.’

‘When!?’

‘In France.’

‘I didn’t—’ Edward stopped abruptly, remembering something. ‘You were talking about Cecilia?’

‘I wasn’t, sir.’

‘Wait, what?! Then why? Then… why would you?!’ Edward stammered, yet more confused.

Wood wasn’t saying something, he could tell. There was something he couldn’t say.

‘Charlotte, Cecilia, could you please give us a moment alone?’ Edward asked.

‘WITH PLEASURE,’ Cecilia spat furiously and promptly made herself comfortable on her chaise longue.

Edward understood this was their reign, therefore the men had to go elsewhere. He bid for his valet to follow him into the library and shut the heavy oak door firmly behind himself. Wood was standing rigidly in the middle of the room, under inquiry, and really, really regretting now more than ever that he hadn’t become a baker instead of this.

Edward walked around him quietly, trying to figure out why this happened, and what he should ask, and how he was going to manage it without having an aneurysm.

‘Relax, Wood, you are not in danger of being dismissed,’ he began. How could he let his valet go when he knew about him and Lord Alfred? But this event was indeed cause for outrage. ‘Tell me everything properly, from the beginning. What happened in France?’

‘N-nothing, sir. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth.’

‘But now you have, so I am asking you to explain more. I only mean to help you and sort out this whole business for all our sakes.’

Wood gulped. ‘I’m afraid I’d get someone else in trouble.’

‘What is said in this room stays between us, I promise.’

Wood considered him sceptically. ‘Well, you _are_ a gentleman, sir,’ he decided.

‘Why thank you,’ Edward replied with some edge. ‘It’s the least I can do in exchange for your confidentiality. So? What—or shall I say who—prompted all these questions, about Lord Alfred, if I recall correctly, and now Cecilia? Wood, did Lord Alfred propose—’ Edward caught himself mid-sentence. It was beneath him to still imagine Alfred would seek the company of other men. ‘That is to say, did Lord Alfred inspire thoughts of yours that may be difficult to explain?’

Now that, put in that way, Edward could easily imagine.

Wood, however, was shaking his head. ‘N-no, sir, it’s… not Lord Alfred… h-h—uhm…’ the valet cleared his throat so often Edward could barely understand him.

‘Here,’ Edward poured him a glass of water from a jug.

Wood’s eyes went huge—served a glass by his boss? Whatever in the world next!—but he accepted it and a few gulps helped.

‘It’s not Lord Alfred, Mr Drummond, it’s his valet.’

‘Wilson?’ Edward asked, trying not to sound so very shocked.

‘It’s nothing, sir. It was just a passing thought, it was all that wine.’

‘Wh-huh—but—uh—Wood—are you—say—Lord Alfred’s—’

Now it was Wood’s turn to pour Mr Drummond a drink of water. It went down in one gulp.

‘Do you mean to say Lord Alfred’s valet is a man of _that sort_?’

‘I wouldn’t say so, sir,’ Wood spoke, slowly, as if he was still debating this himself. ‘He was awfully nice all throughout the trip, and I took care of him when he had a cold and in turn he fixed me up when my nose…’ Edward still felt incredibly guilty for that. ‘And then at the fete, Wilson, well, he’s a nice lad, he had a girl on his arm all evening, he likes a jig, he does. He saw my reluctance—I wasn’t one for a reel even in Scotland, you see—and I said I’d join when I’ve drunk my wine as it was too good to let it go warm, but this time he wouldn’t let me stay out of it and, well, his way of doing it was to take my tankard, finish it in one gulp, and smack a kiss on my mouth, an’ he said “That’ll keep you going for the next round,” and we had a laugh, and next thing I know we’re dancing and as soon as I left, I was ever so confused, and I was afraid to go back to our shared room all night, because I thought I’d, well, I’d drunk a bit too much perhaps and—’

‘Wait, wait, wait, let me get this straight,’ Edward said, slumping into his chair and massaging his eyelids. ‘Lord Alfred’s valet kissed you?’

‘He did, sir.’

‘And now you want to kiss Cecilia?’

‘Not particularly, to be honest.’

‘Then why would you ask her? Is it because you feel unmanned by Wilson’s gesture?’

‘I don’t feel unmanned, sir. That’s what I’m trying to say: it wasn’t entirely unwelcome,’ Wood admitted at last, wishing at once that he could stuff the words back into his mouth.

‘So… alright… well…’ Edward muttered, trying to make sense of it all. ‘That explains why you’re not running to the police when Lord Alfred spends the night here.’

Wood’s embarrassed smile said it all. ‘I’ve always wondered. You see, us working class men, we are quite close with one another by necessity all the time. We don’t have palaces with enough beds for everyone, we bathe together in the sea, we have less care for all the rules that matter to you and higher society, sir. But I’ve never done anything about it. You see, that’s why I asked whether you needed to kiss Lord Alfred to know for certain.’

‘Right. Yes. Right. Uh… We can talk about that later, but, um… So, then why would you upset Cecilia with such a proposition?’

‘Because I did fancy her before, sir.’

Edward pulled a face. ‘I’m confused.’

‘Well, imagine how confused I am, sir!’ Wood replied, standing up for himself at last. He poured himself a glass of water without asking for permission. It was all done, anyway, wasn’t it? He was getting sacked without a reference, surely. ‘I don’t believe Wilson meant anything by it but you were right, it does confirm things for myself. As for Cecilia, I apologise for offending her, but it was only a question, I wasn’t going to do anything. I do not know what you imagine of me, sir, of my class, but I respect women when they say no. I _wanted_ her to say no, even though a few months ago I would have given anything for her to say yes.’

‘So you’ve changed?’ Edward suggested unsurely. Was that possible?

‘I wouldn’t say that either, sir. I did enjoy a dance or two with a beautiful girl from the village in France. Shame I could not speak a word to her. I would have had to ask Wilson to translate, which I wasn’t going to, I mean, how awkward would that have been? I would have been too flustered to speak to him and then part of me worried he’d fancy the girl for himself and I didn’t know whether I was more jealous of her or him! Blimey, my head is such a mess!’

Wood hid his face behind his palms, wishing for simpler times. Edward just stared at him. For a long time. Wood felt quite awkward after a while and meant to ask him whether he ought to pack his bags or not. But Edward sat up straighter.

‘I believe we had better consult Lord Alfred about these things.’

Wood’s eyes went wide with fear. ‘No, sir, please don’t tell him that Wilson—that is to say that I—that we—’

Half an hour later, Lord Alfred was with them in the study, catching up on the events that explained why on his way into the house, Cecilia, instead of jumping at the chance to socialise with a friend, just shot him a nasty look, muttered “Men!” and left Charlotte to rather thornily tell him to make his way to the library.

‘…so you see, Wood here feels confused, as do I, to be honest.’

Alfred was more preoccupied with pouring exactly the same amount of brandy into three glasses at the liquor cabinet as he listened.

‘That is not to say that your valet is…’

‘Oh, but, he is,’ Alfred muttered casually under his breath. ‘Well, somewhat. I think he just goes for anyone and everyone. And, given that a lady must protect more than just her reputation if she doesn’t want to end up in a situation out of wedlock, if you know what I mean, I suspect in my valet’s place I’d go for fellow fellas half the time, too. Ah, perfect!’ he rejoiced to himself when he was done with the brandy.

‘Alfred?!’ Edward burst out at once. ‘Do you mean to say that your valet’s been… all this time? Did you ever…?’ he added in a low tone, which there was no way it wasn’t heard by Wood but whatever. His mind was reeling.

‘I have never touched him. Nor he me. Happy?’ Alfred announced loudly. ‘I’ve never been able to disregard difference of hierarchy. Were I the marrying kind, I would never propose to a woman outside my own class. One does love to be served by a good-looking waiter at a restaurant but that doesn’t mean he’s on the menu. Oh, pick up your jaw off the floor, will you, darling? The point is: what my valet does in his spare time is entirely his own business. As for you, Wood, the same goes for you: if you say it wasn’t unwelcome, then just enjoy it. No harm done, is there?’

‘No, but what does it mean, my lord?’

‘I don’t believe I can tell you that. Every man—or woman, for that matter—must learn for themselves, I suspect.’

‘But I’ve been in a muddle ever since! There must be something that helps me,’ the valet said in desperation now. He thought all this embarrassment would be worth it if he’d get some answers.

‘Well, you might know more if you try more.’

‘Alfred,’ Edward cleared his throat and told him covertly, ‘would you please stop telling my valet to sleep around? Thank you.’

Alfred apologised passingly but he stood by it really. He turned to the still visibly miserable young valet.

‘Alright, Wood. Do you feel conflicted because you are not sure how to approach Wilson or because you have found yourself taken in by the charms of men and women alike?’

‘Both, I would say, my lord.’

‘Well, as for Wilson, I believe he likes you and to be perfectly honest, he’s a lively sort of person that does not need telling twice to enjoy himself when he gets the chance, so you shouldn’t worry about him. (Sorry, Edward.) As for the other thing… you should worry even less. It’ll sort itself out. No need to feel like you must have all the answers and there is certainly no need to feel bad about it. You’re also not alone. Most men I’ve known have also had an interest in women.’

‘Alfred?!’ Edward heard himself say, again, his voice an octave higher.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Mr I-Was-Engaged-for-Four-Years.’

‘I never really…’

‘No, but you were thinking about it. You would have gone along with it, when it came to it. You _cared deeply_ about her. There’s no shame about it, my love. I believe you if you say you know better now and that you wouldn’t have loved her. Granted Lady Florence is difficult to love anyway…’

Alfred had a little chuckle to himself at the look that provoked from Edward.

‘Look, I’m lucky, I’ve always been certain of myself for some reason but as far as I can tell most men are not quite so sure. Women, either.’

‘Alfred?!’

‘Oh, the stories I could tell you about duchesses and baronesses and so many more! But I have taken a vow to stop gossiping. Well, to gossip less, at any rate. Starting in the new year if anyone’s curious? No? Ugh. Oh, well. Brandy, anyone?’

Edward and Wood were too embarrassed by all this intimate and scandalous information Alfred was sharing so freely that they didn’t even move.

‘Suit yourselves,’ Alfred shrugged and went ahead to drink his own. He made himself comfortable in an armchair. ‘Look, I know we like to faction people into categories nowadays, in a way that it wasn’t such a must in other historical times, and I feel sure such times shall come again. We like to keep things in a neat order, including people, but in my experience human nature does not quite work that way. You may feel unusual, Wood, but may I just say, you are quite young, not twenty-one, are you?’

‘Twenty-one exactly.’

‘Well, then! So young and so handsome! The whole wide world is out there for you to discover. You may fall on your feet one way or another one day, as many people like you do, or they may not,’ Alfred shrugged.

That’s it? A shrug? Wood wanted to ask. But then, perhaps that was right. He shouldn’t fret. If Lord Alfred said there were many like him, he believed him as his lordship was a worldly man.

‘What I _would_ worry about is the ladies’ wrath,’ Alfred added with a chuckle. ‘Oh, Edward, I think we have overstayed our welcome. Perhaps it’s time we made the move.’

‘You mean move into your house?’ Edward asked, getting excited about the prospect already.

‘Yes, _unfortunately_ , I think we must. If you can bear the luxury.’

‘I think I’ll tough it out. But would it not attract attention?’

‘Perhaps not if we only open the suite—or rather two, for appearances’ sake—and a couple of downstairs rooms. NOT the ballroom. I want a private home, most private indeed, not a public house with patrons who wear pearls. Just one thing, come to think of it: do you think you could manage to coexist with my handsome valet under one roof, if Mr Drummond and I were to live together on Grosvenor Place, Wood?’

Wood said yes, but his heart said otherwise.

*

_Christmas Day, 1846_

Miss Coke twirled out of the Polka circle and stepped over to Lord Alfred, who, unusually, was watching the servants’ ball rather than dancing.

‘Lord Alfred, don’t you have a partner?’ she asked. ‘The maids will be so disappointed if you don’t give them a turn.’

‘I find I am not so light on my feet today, Miss Coke,’ he replied kindly but timidly.

‘Is it because Mr Drummond could not accompany us to Windsor?’ she asked, careful not to be overheard. This means, however, that she had to lean in closer to Alfred’s ear. He noticed the Duchess of Buccleuch’s eyes were ogling them from across the crowded room yet more sharply. ‘It is only for a couple of weeks. I daresay you will survive this short time without each other.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ve no right to brood compared to you. Still, I cannot help myself. I miss him.’

‘All the more reason for a dance. It’ll cheer you, you’ll see.’

‘Is that why you haven’t stopped all night? Because of your admirer, whom you left in France?’

‘Lord Alfred…’

‘I notice you have taken to exchanging letters every day. It must be quite serious. When are you going to tell your aunt?’

‘Well, today is Wednesday, so… never?’

Lord Alfred cracked up at that. Wilhelmina considered that encouragement and grabbed his hand.

‘Forgive me, Lord Alfred, I am going to do something indelicate.’

He had no choice, the next second, they were skipping cheerfully around the circle. He was lighter on his feet indeed wondering how Edward was spending his Christmas.

*

While Alfred was dancing until his feet hurt in Windsor Castle, Edward was doing the washing up in his own kitchen, for the first time in his life. Well, it was his house but not really. Although he had moved into Alfred’s address recently, and very quietly so as not to attract any press, he spent the holidays at Charlotte and Cecilia’s. Aside from proper presents, it was the least he could do to help with the housework.

He let Wood travel home to his family for a few days in Eastbourne. Wood, who, apparently fancied Lord Alfred’s own valet, or something along those lines. As far as he could tell, everything went like clockwork when they were working and living under the same roof, which could have something to do with the fact that the valets no longer had to be crammed into a shared room. Generosity went a long way, apparently and Edward had a sneaky suspicion that Wood went out of his way to avoid Wilson as much as possible, for which the big house allowed. Alfred told him not to worry. Edward just hoped it wouldn’t blow up in their face one day.

He was more preoccupied by his own work anyway. Since having recovered from his incident, he had slowly but surely resumed his position as Sir Robert’s private secretary. However, he would have been lying if he had said that he was entirely content in this role. It just didn’t sit right with him that Sir Robert was so heartlessly pious that he would have been glad to see his own son behind bars, or worse, hanged. For what? For… well, one could hardly call it love, what William did with the footman, but in essence it was a crime that hurt no one. In fact, Edward shuddered pleasantly whenever he thought about being with Alfred. How could that be wrong when there was so much love between them?

Sir Robert evidently thought otherwise and Edward started to notice with much vexation that the former PM liked to comment on the unspeakable crime that was so atrocious that only the Times reported about it, very seldom, and not very kindly. Occasionally, he even went on a short tirade about men he termed “unnatural” and “degenerates” and whatnot, all the while Drummond following him two steps behind or scribbling his administrative documents right outside his office. Drummond had to remind him to return to the subject of the Navigation Acts so as to put an end to his rants.

‘Why don’t you just find another position?’ Charlotte asked later.

They were upstairs in the sitting room, too bored to keep playing cards. Cecilia had fallen asleep on her chaise longue. The Drummond siblings were halfway through a lazy game of chess and some warm, spiced whisky from home that Charles sent them – their only family member who wished them a happy Christmas without chiding them for not traveling up to Scotland in person.

‘But I love my job,’ Edward replied sadly, thinking about his next move.

‘You don’t even need a job.’

‘I might, if I am to split it with you and your wife forever.’

‘Shush! She’s not my wife,’ Charlotte said, although she secretly loved the idea.

‘Whatever you say,’ he said with a little knowing smirk. He stepped ahead with a rook, which was immediately taken off by Charlotte’s knight. ‘Damn.’

‘Sorry.’

‘I can’t even take any time off on the pretext of writing a book or anything as I have only just come back to work full time. It would raise eyebrows. The last thing I need is more public scrutiny. Plus, I’ve worked so hard on preparing the arguments for the repeal of the Navigation Acts. I mean to see it through till the end.’

‘You are careful, though, are you not? With Alfred.’

‘As careful as we can be,’ Edward said, stepping across the board with his bishop as far as he could.

‘Rrright,’ Charlotte responded, taking it off with hers.

‘Oh, no! I forgot about that one.’

‘Just as long as you protect your queen.’

Edward smiled. ‘Does that refer to Her Majesty or yourself?’

‘Perhaps to that situation brewing right under your nose, dear brother.’

Edward looked at the chessboard again, seeing that he was soon going to be out of players to shield his king, which was currently threatened by Charlotte’s bishop. He had to think hard, one bad move and it could be over.

‘I’m stuck.’

‘Think.’

‘It’s impossible.’

‘Seriously, just think!’

But try as he might, Edward could not see a way out of this. His hands lingered over this piece and that, Charlotte shaking her head and tutting in warning, driving him mad. Then suddenly, he thought he knew just what to do and took a risk. His smile was so very proud.

‘There you go, Edward!’ Charlotte said in a chirpy voice, all smiles. ‘Congratulations, you just lost.’

Edward’s smile was wiped off his face fast. ‘Thank you—wait, WHAT?’

Charlotte took out Edward’s second knight with her queen and that was a proper checkmate there.

Edward sighed in defeat. ‘Well played. Just out of curiosity, what would have been my way out?’

‘Oh, dear Edward. There never was a way out.’

‘Wait, you were just bluffing? That’s cheating!’

‘It’s not cheating. That’s why it’s called bluffing.’

‘But you’re my sister! I believed you!’

‘Precisely. Love blinds you. You shouldn’t have believed me just because I seemed as if I was trying to help you and it came from a familiar face.’

‘I suppose that’s supposed to be some sort of a metaphor?’

‘You suppose right. I love you, and you’re a smart man, Edward, but remember, don’t let your good faith in people make you naïve. If you make a mistake, I’ll lose everything, too.’

Edward knew what she meant. She was dependent on her allowance from Edward and this house. In the horrible event that Edward and Alfred were discovered, this house would become their parents’ and they wouldn’t let her stay there alone, not without a husband. It would be unthinkable for an unmarried woman to live freely in the middle of London in her own townhouse, going wherever she pleased. At the very least, they would sent a chaperone, probably her old governess or her own mother, to supervise her.

‘I don’t want to sound selfish. I don’t want to lose you,’ she added quietly. ‘I never say this because I detest being sentimental but since it’s Christmas I am telling you now.’

‘I love you too, Charlotte. Even if you cheated.’

‘I didn’t cheat!’

‘Yes, you did!’

‘Did not.’

‘Did, too.’

‘Didn’t.’

‘Did.’

‘Didn’t…’

*

Miss Coke was still all smiles when she returned to her room. She kicked off her dancing shoes and went to take off her earrings when she spotted her aunt sitting in a dark corner, making her jump.

‘Aunt! I didn’t see you there. You gave me such a fright!’

‘Your complexion seems to suffer from it. Or perhaps it is because of the dances.’

‘I did just as everyone else, aunt. Are you going to tell me off for dancing with the servants _at the servants’ ball_?’

‘You didn’t just dance with hall boys. I saw you with Lord Alfred.’

‘And what’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing. On the contrary. You have finally come to your senses.’

‘Aunt. I have told you, he is my friend.’

‘Like this Monsieur Beauchamp?’ the duchess said, holding up a bunch of letters.

Wilhelmina was struck with fear.

‘Those are my private letters,’ she said, her voice shaking with humiliation at the thought of someone else getting their hands on her dearest correspondence with a most charming man he met at Florence’s wedding and who came to call on her especially on the day of the wine festivities at Mr Walsh’s chateau. They were so well-suited, Harriet said so, too.

‘Nothing of yours is private to me before you marry.’

‘Give them back to me, aunt.’

The duchess stood up. She may have relied on a walking stick but she was not too weak to cut a threatening sight towering over Wilhelmina.

‘I knew I should have gone to France to chaperone you, you foolish girl.’

‘I am not foolish and there was no point, the Duchess of Sutherland and I were perfectly happy without your tyranny.’

‘Perfectly debauched and improper, I should say. What is this?’ the duchess demanded, brandishing the letters. ‘A Catholic? French? In trade?!’

‘I love him.’

‘Enough!’

‘No!’

But before Wilhelmina could do anything, her cherished love letters landed on the fire, each and every one of them becoming one with the ashes within seconds.

‘No!’ she cried angrily. ‘Those were MY letters!’

‘You will forget about this Monsieur Beauchamp and appear in the orangery at eleven sharp tomorrow morning so that Lord Alfred may propose to you.’

Though Wilhelmina was full of tears at the loss of her love’s handwritten letters, she managed to laugh bitterly at her aunt.

‘We are not chess pieces for you to push around! You may have a hold over me, aunt, but you do not control Lord Alfred. He will never propose to me.’

‘We shall see.’

‘What will you do?’ Wilhelmina asked sceptically.

‘Lord Alfred could benefit from a marriage, given his ungodly proclivities.’

Wilhelmina was too shocked to keep crying. ‘A-aunt, h-how did you—that is to say, what do you imply?’

‘You know perfectly well what I am implying and that it is true. Him and that Drummond boy are just friends moving in together to save time and resources or whatever excuse they gave, are they? Ha! If they are just friends, I am sixteen! If I get wind of you trying to protect them…’

Wilhelmina stayed silent, knowing she was definitely guilty of that.

‘Wash your face and go to bed. You must look splendid tomorrow. And afterwards, when Her Majesty comes to see your ring, you will smile from ear to ear, understand?’

Wilhelmina had no more say as the Duchess of Buccleuch left. Given the late hour, she did not even have a chance to warn Alfred.


	19. Buying Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I did not check whether Windsor Castle has or had an orangery at the time and I don't care.)

Edward yawned into the nook of his elbow as he balanced his cup of coffee, a newspaper, and several letters on his way into the dining room. Cecilia and Charlotte were already dressed for a walk but he didn’t bother as his plans for the morning were going back to bed and missing Alfred.

The doorbell rang. It was another letter delivered personally by Alfred’s valet.

‘Wilson? I thought you were in Windsor!’

‘I was, Mr Drummond. I only came to give you this. From his lordship,’ Wilson said. Edward noticed he was somewhat out of breath. He lingered on the doorstep, looking at him oddly.

‘Uh, I,’ Edward patted his pockets but he did not carry any coins in his pyjamas.

‘No, sir, I just… I would read it at once if I were you. I will tell his lordship you have got it safely. I should be off.’

The valet nodded goodbye and he was gone – on horseback. In the snow. In the cold. On Alfred’s horse. Edward rejoined the breakfast table, where the ladies were discussing plans for the new year, while he was immersed in opening the letter and reading it…

… ten seconds later, he spurted coffee all over the breakfast table.

‘What do you mean he’s engaged?!’ Charlotte demanded once Edward stutteringly broke the news to them in utter shock and disbelief.

‘Give it here,’ Cecilia asked and read the full letter aloud:

_“Dearest Edward,_

_I deeply regret to disturb what I am sure is a most peaceful Christmas time for you and the ladies but there is a matter of urgency about which I must tell you. Do not be alarmed as what I am about to say to you is something I do not intend to make definite._

_I am presently considered engaged to be married with Miss Wilhelmina Coke, though only privately for the moment. Let us hope it is kept that way. You must know this is not my desire. It absolutely is not. It is come as a result of the Duchess of Buccleuch’s enforcement._

_She knows, Edward._

_What is more, she has threatened to write to Sir Robert with a libellous letter incriminating you. My way to protect you was to agree to engage myself to Miss Coke, though I know she gave her heart to a Monsieur Bernard Beauchamp, a wine tradesman whom she met at Florence’s wedding. We neither of us mean to keep our word but I had to buy us some time. All of us._

_From Windsor, I with Miss Coke and the duchess will travel directly to my family’s seat, Plas Newydd in Anglesey, where we will remain for the New Year, possibly until the end of the winter. The duchess has intercepted Miss Coke’s letters in the past – I fear she is not above doing the same with our correspondence. I have sent this letter to you through my valet personally for this reason but you must appreciate I will not be able to send him across the country and back weekly henceforth. Write to me to Wales only that you have got it safely so that I can rest easy that it has not got into the wrong hands but burn this as soon as you have read it so as to leave no trace._

_Do the same with anything that might give us away in our home. Separate the things we ought not to keep together, should anyone come knocking. Throw away what would be difficult to explain. Be heartless – they are just objects. You are my life._

_Remember what we said on our first night together, my beloved. If it takes running, we run. If it takes inaction, we do nothing. If it takes pretending we do not care for each other, we must play our parts._

_I ask you now to do nothing. Go about your days as normal. It is imperative that you do so. All the while, pretending to be unaffected by my absence. Do not write to me unless there is an absolute emergency. Consider every day I cannot write to you a day I will have spent in agony for love of you with your absence clawing at my insides worse than the flames of Hell itself. I can only hope its fire will fuel my drive enough to win this war, though this battle I may have forfeited for appearances’ sake._

_I love you now and I love you forever, my dearest._

_Yours,_

_Alfred”_

Edward couldn’t bear to be looked at like the way Charlotte and Cecilia did. He jumped up and announced he had to dress. Charlotte followed.

‘Where are you going?’ she asked upon seeing that Edward started to pack.

‘To Windsor.’

‘No, you can’t,’ she pleaded without hesitation. ‘Alfred said—’

‘I know what he said but it cannot happen. I won’t let it.’

‘He sounds like he has a plan. THINK!’

‘I AM thinking, Charlotte! What a farce! A joke! He goes to such lengths to save me from a false marriage and then he submits himself to the same charade? I will not tolerate this for a second. If the duchess wants to blackmail me, she’ll have to face me, I—’

Edward suddenly choked. It hit him with a delay, like when one sees their skin burn but feel the pain only once they understand what just happened.

Alfred, who was so smart and always had all the answers, thought it was their best chance to go along with an engagement to Miss Coke?! Were they so powerless that that ancient hag, the Duchess of Buccleuch, could do this to them out of the blue? No. He could not imagine Alfred agreeing to this without a fight.

*

_Boxing Day, 1846 – One Day Earlier…_

No sooner did Lord Alfred step into the orangery that Miss Coke grabbed him by the arm and told him to run, to escape, and not to show himself for as long as he could, that this was a trap!

‘But why on Earth, Miss Coke?’ Alfred objected, reluctant to take a single step into the freezing, snowy garden. ‘I haven’t got my coat on!’

‘You must! Otherwise she’ll come!’

‘Who?’

‘Good morning, Lord Alfred,’ the Duchess of Buccleuch said, entering from the house and closing the door behind herself. ‘Close that door, Wilhelmina, we will catch a chill.’

‘What’s going on?’ Lord Alfred asked, sensing something was up.

At this point, Wilhelmina flopped into a chair and began to cry and in her distress.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked, fearing he was about to be told that Edward had suffered an injury.

‘It has come to my attention that you have grown to be close friends,’ the duchess said with complete disregard for what she thought of as her weepy niece, who didn’t know what was good for her.

‘We have, duchess,’ Alfred replied carefully, his mind still half on Edward.

‘It is time to propose, Lord Alfred.’

‘Propose what?’

‘Marriage, of course. To Wilhelmina.’

Alfred, with a moment’s delay, had to laugh out loud.

Nobody else was laughing. This, he found yet more amusing.

‘Well, thank you for that, uh, suggestion,’ he said, trying to speak as if he took this seriously. ‘But I will respectfully decline.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Because I do not want to,’ Alfred said, amused he was even having to discuss this.

‘Why not? You are close, you keep whispering in corners. It reflects badly on you not to follow it up with decent intentions.’

‘Alright, duchess. For more clarity, I will not propose, because Miss Coke and I are not well-suited. Because I believe there is a certain someone who would be very cross with me if I did propose to Miss Coke. Because, while we are very dear friends, we are not in love, nor in need of one another’s fortunes…’

‘Because you have an illicit relationship with Mr Drummond.’

Lord Alfred did not bat an eyelash. In fact, his smile never even wavered at all.

‘You shock me. This sort of talk is beneath you, duchess.’

‘But not beneath you.’

‘Well, if you really believed that to be true, duchess, why would you want me to propose to your niece?’

‘Save the cleverness for others. It is also in your best interest to take this offer. Others would not be as willing to overlook your vices.’

‘Should I thank you now?’

‘If you do not agree to this, I will send a letter detailing everything I know about Drummond.’

‘To whom?’

‘To Sir Robert Peel.’

Alfred cracked up. ‘And you think he would believe you?’

‘He has every right not to believe me. However, I would imagine he might send his men to investigate. Just in case. You know how he detests this sort of un-Christian behaviour. He is the father of modern policing, too, no doubt he could get an officer or two on the case privately, even off the record.’

Alfred’s smile faded a little. He had to admit, there was a small chance that would happen.

‘Well, now, Lord Alfred. No need to worry. After all, if Drummond has nothing to hide, there is nothing to be afraid of.’

Alfred knew exactly how many things Edward had to hide. And that was just last week.

‘Don’t let her do this, Alfred!’ Wilhelmina pleaded. ‘If Mama and Papa were alive, they’d never have…’

She was overcome by a new bout of sobs. Alfred handed Wilhelmina his handkerchief without taking his eyes off the tyrannical duchess.

‘You know what they say. Spoken, it is slander,’ he said in a casual sort of voice. ‘Put it into writing, it is libel. Aren’t you getting _yourself_ into trouble here?’

‘I shall take my chances.’

‘I am merely saying that it would be a shame if after all these years you found yourself banished from court for this impropriety, duchess.’

‘Better than being banished for…’

‘For what?’

‘You know exactly what.’

‘It’s not against the law to love.’

‘Love...! You live in sin with Drummond under one roof.’

‘Nor is it against the law to live with one’s friend, not to my knowledge.’

‘You…’

‘What?’

‘Do not pretend. We all know you are one of those…’

‘Those...?’

Buccleuch’s face contorted in frustration.

‘Well, if you can’t say it, how will you put it into writing, I wonder,’ Alfred teased patronisingly.

The duchess bit the bullet and held her head up. ‘Sodomites,’ she said as if ripping off a band-aid.

Miss Coke shrieked, mortified to bits. Alfred, not so much:

‘Have you been looking through my window, duchess?’ he replied before thinking.

Perhaps that was where he crossed a line.

‘Have you no shame?’

‘Let me think…’ Alfred pretended, ‘No, none at all.’

The duchess was standing her ground. Fine, it was war, then.

‘And yet I am still welcome at court. You say it is common knowledge. Is that so? Ask yourself: would Her Majesty associate herself with a man like that? What would she say if you implied that she would? Come, duchess, I see no one but you attempting to besmirch my reputation and I daresay Her Majesty would believe me over you. She finds you increasingly tiresome, while I remain her favourite.’

‘It is not you I am exposing but Drummond.’

‘It takes two to…’

‘I have many enemies to name. I shall make sure you will be the naïve friend that never suspected what an abominable creature his friend was.’

Alfred’s anger flared up. ‘I would sooner tie the noose around my own neck than let that happen.’

‘Is that a warning?’

‘It is a fact.’

‘We shall see. I will be a good friend, vouching for you, as will the court and Her Majesty, so do not be afraid. You could shout from the rooftops about what you get up to, no one will carter away the Queen’s favourite, as you put it. Your reputation will remain untouched so you can still marry Wilhelmina, as soon as she stops weeping, and we shall all remain at the Palace.’

‘Oh! That’s why you are doing this! It is time Her Majesty swaps her Tory ladies to Whig ones again. Here’s where I come in, to be your Whig relative! Brilliant plan. It almost worked. Dry your eyes, Miss Coke, your aunt is not worth any tears. She is all talk.’

Buccleuch produced a letter. ‘PAGE BOY!’

Brodie popped in. ‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘Post this to Sir Robert Peel.’

‘Brodie, do not touch the letter,’ Lord Alfred ordered instantly. ‘Leave.’

‘Stay, boy.’

‘Brodie, leave.’

Brodie left before the duchess could make him stay any longer, not wanting any part of this argument!

Lord Alfred broke a sweat, accepting that the duchess truly meant this.

‘There has to be something else that you want more than this,’ he bargained, hating this. ‘Sickening perfumes? A new collection of dented jewellery? More moth-eaten bonnets?’

‘Did you know about that Frenchman courting my niece? I bet you did and you did nothing to stop it.’

‘As a matter of fact, it completely escaped me. I was probably too busy in love with Drummond,’ Alfred quipped, adding an audacious wink.

The duchess had to turn away to show her disapproval, further emboldening him.

‘But if I did, I would have supported the match, because I trust Miss Coke’s taste, judgement, and sound character very well,’ he added, shooting Wilhelmina a fierce look. ‘And I shall make sure she gets to marry a man who loves her like she loves him, even if I must take her personally to France to Monsieur Beauchamp and buy them a cottage out of my own pocket and guard their gates myself as their personal horse-guard. Just you wait.’

‘A duke’s niece in a cottage!’ the duchess shrieked, the very idea outraging her.

‘That’s right. A cottage surrounded by woods, two floors, not too small to be comfortable but not too big so that its upkeep would be arduous. It would have a large library, ivy running down the front, a stream nearby, and peacocks named after composers,’ Alfred detailed. ‘A modest life but one to enjoy with the love of one’s life.’

It was obvious it was something he had envisioned prior to this conversation. He did, for himself and Edward, many times, when he was fed up with the fact that all the things that made life luxurious kept him apart from his love. He felt foolish for feeling safe enough to move in with Edward in Grosvenor Place. It was heaven… for what, a week? Two? This was like an act of God. Just when he thought he would be happy. He knew he had to take more drastic actions if he was to ensure Edward’s safety beyond this conversation. He knew exactly what he needed to do. He just needed time.

‘I will sooner see you put a ring on Wilhelmina’s finger, mark my words.’

‘What’s to stop me from divorcing her in that event? Divorce!’ Alfred repeated, enjoying the harrowing effect it had on the old croon. ‘Divorce! Divorce! Divorce!’ he repeated, cackling almost madly.

‘ENOUGH! You will still have to marry the girl before you can bring that disgrace upon yourself. That is what matters. I won’t have her become an old maid.’

‘She’s only twenty!’

‘AS I SAID, what you do after you marry is up to you. Whether Mr Drummond will be a free man to attend the wedding or not is up to you also. Well, what will it be, Lord Alfred?’

Alfred did not feel like laughing anymore. Sometimes it took more strength for one to know when they’ve lost than to keep fighting.

He composed himself, then he excused himself and lent a hand to Wilhelmina so that she would stand and he might lean close to her, seeming as if he placed a kiss on her cheek.

‘Just play along for now. We’ll win. Do you trust me?’ he whispered to her very quietly, scaring her but when he pulled away, she did not break the act. Wilhelmina nodded. Alfred vowed to himself to keep his word. To win. But for the present, he turned to the duchess and said: ‘Very well. I suppose we could marry.’

The duchess broke out in a smug, triumphant sneer.

‘On one condition,’ Alfred added. ‘That I can introduce Miss Coke to my family. Properly. I expect not to make this public unless we have my parents’ approval and support. It is only right, is it not?’

No one could argue with that. And so, though Victoria was surprised at the sudden change of plans, she granted her courtiers permission to travel to Wales for the winter.

*

Charlotte sat with Edward while he cried his eyes out and called the duchess many names she had never heard her brother use. This really was quite serious.

‘Perhaps I should do what Alfred did. I should go to France and get Monsieur Beauchamp to come here and he and Miss Coke could elope and…’

Charlotte watched him with sympathy. ‘Perhaps,’ she said gently and kept rubbing Edward’s back soothingly. ‘But perhaps we should begin by taking Alfred’s advice.’

‘What, go on as if nothing’s happened? As if my heart wasn’t being ripped away from me?’

‘I know how you feel, but…’

‘You don’t know how I feel.’

‘Don’t I?’ she challenged, sticking up for herself. ‘Why do you think Cecilia hasn’t come upstairs to comfort you? She was locked in her room for weeks, Edward. She still has nightmares about it. How many times did Mama make me dance with some gentleman at a ball? How many more times will she? Do you not think I know perfectly well how tormented you feel? I say do as Alfred says for now. He must know what he’s talking about. Won’t you at least try to trust him?’

Edward considered that, trying to steel himself.

‘Perhaps you are right,’ he decided, feeling defeated. ‘I ought to go home and get rid of everything that might give us away.’

‘You do that, sweetheart. Would you like me to come with you?’

Edward wanted to say no, that Charlotte should be with Cecilia, but he felt so small and weak. Charlotte helped him into his warmest coat and together they walked down empty, snowy streets all the way to Grosvenor Place. The cool air and peace were good for his nerves.

This house was where Edward and Alfred spent their first night together. Since then, they had made two upstairs suites liveable, along with the downstairs sitting room, the library, and two rooms on the upper floors for their valets.

‘Well, you weren’t lying. This is quite a palace,’ Charlotte remarked. This was her first time seeing this building from the inside. She craned her neck to look up to the foyer’s high, frescoed ceiling held up by crisp white columns in the Ionic order, and admired the most enormous crystal chandelier she had seen in a townhouse. She almost asked whether she could have a look around in all the rooms, most of which were out of use but this was not the time. ‘Where do we begin?’ she asked.

‘Perhaps in the library,’ Edward suggested and led the way.

It felt like vandalism but they had to burn all the letters that implied even a little bit that there had ever been anything more than friendship between the men. Charlotte pretended not to have seen Edward kiss Alfred’s signatures of love before throwing every sheet of paper in the fireplace.

Alfred was right. It was hard to part with them but they were just objects. It was all for the greater good.

They continued upstairs. There were just a couple more letters and Edward’s diary. Charlotte was overcome by a sense of dread in the last second and grabbed Edward’s wrist just in time. In the end they decided to keep the diary as it was such a valuable artefact. In a happier year, someone might find it and they would know that there was love in this house. However, for now, it would be locked in her safe under lock and key.

They made sure Alfred’s clothes were in his own suite and all of Edwards were in his. Though they slept in what was officially Alfred’s suite, he would sleep in his own bed while Alfred was gone, to make sure it was genuinely worn and lived in, just in case.

Besides, how could he sleep in Alfred’s bed alone without crying himself to sleep missing him every night, only to wake up to his absence every morning?

Charlotte picked up a watercolour of Edward that rested on Alfred’s nightstand. Something landed by her feet. It was a small note that fell out of the back of the frame. She alerted Edward, who came over and they opened it together. It contained a small, silver key and the message:

_“To the ailed Knight-at-Arms,_

_When in trouble, ask for La Belle Dame of the docks. Love, A”_

‘What does that mean?’ Charlotte asked.

‘No idea.’

‘La Belle Dame?’

‘ _La Belle Dame sans Merci_. It’s a Keats poem.’

‘Well, what is its significance?’

‘Nothing, really. He quoted its lines to me once at a ball. But that was before we were really friends, before everything.’

‘Was this ball at the docks?’ she asked, knowing that was a strange notion. Edward shook his head too, stumped. ‘But this could be something, couldn’t it? There you go, Alfred counted on you to trust him. He must have left this for you, prepared for this day in advance.’

Edward could not deny it. It was Alfred talking to him even when they were torn apart. It was a clue indeed. The only trouble was, he had no clue what it meant.


	20. La Belle Dame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward makes progress while Alfred is losing hope.

Edward got home late again. He had long days at work, pretending for hours upon exhausting hours that he was fine. Cecilia said he could rely on his naturally good looks and he was glad it turned out to be true. Stephenson, the former junior secretary, used to be the only one who could see past it and see when Drummond was tired. But Stephenson worked for someone else now. And he knew a smile went a long way. No one could have guessed the turmoil and anxiety within him.

He hadn’t seen Alfred for over two months.

There was no word. No news at all. For all Edward knew, Alfred could be picking the venue for his wedding by now. Lord Anglesey was probably thrilled his son was embarking on a journey to establish his own family. He tried to remember Charlotte’s council and not get ahead of himself but it was increasingly difficult. Especially now that Sir Robert would blame the “inner-city degeneracy” and “mounting anti-religious sentiments” for all his troubles, be it a tough debate or a broken pencil.

As far as Drummond was concerned, Sir Robert’s values were intact among society. Twice he had to take a detour to get to Westminster because a mob was keen to surround and shame and throw whatever they could at some men who were pilloried before put into prison – judging by the slurs shouted at them, the prisoners’ crimes were no different than Edward’s.

Yet he kept copying speeches and accompanying his mentor on rides in the park and everything that was required of him, as usual. He wished he could do something. But he couldn’t. Especially not now that Alfred explicitly told him to go on as normal.

He felt helpless at work, and on top of that, he felt helpless after hours. Every week, he would visit the docks in search of this Belle Dame that Alfred said would help in times of trouble. Who was this dame? Where was she? Drummond dared not inquire too much at the same time for fear of drawing attention to himself.

And tonight, he was out of luck once again.

‘Any letters?’ he asked Wood upon entering the echoing foyer of Alfred’s big, white house on Grosvenor Place.

The valet shook his head. He knew Drummond meant “any letters from Lord Alfred”.

Edward thanked him and declined any offer of supper. That was Wood’s cue to retire for the night.

Edward made his way through the spacious sitting room alone, where the library opened. He lit a few candles and tried to work for a while. He could almost hear Alfred’s voice coming from the other desk warning him not to strain his eyes in the dark. Almost.

*

_What was taking him so long?_ Alfred asked himself. That night was just as dark and rainy in Wales, except he wasn’t sitting at his desk. As every night, he rode to the edge of the estate where the banks reached low into the Menai Strait. In the summer, one could take a picnic there and dip their feet in the water where it was safe. It wasn’t summer now. He was freezing all over, drenched to the bone once again, looking for the sign. It wasn’t there.

He rode back dejectedly to the house, wondering where he had gone wrong. Did Edward miss his messages? Should he have placed them in more obvious places? He tried and tested them, how could they fail? Or perhaps, said a nagging voice in the back of his mind, Edward wasn’t even looking. Worse, he had come to harm. He could be languishing in a dungeon somewhere!

*

Edward got into his warm bed at home. He pulled the comforter up to his ears, trying to feel safe in this big, empty house. Alfred was right, this place was made to be filled with dozens of people, upstairs and downstairs. As it was, Edward felt like a ghost in this mansion whose tall rooms seemed to echo from the silence. He felt better when Charlotte visited but it was never for long. What he wanted was Alfred in his arms, and nothing would make him feel better until he had that.

*

Alfred left wet puddles in his wake as he walked into Plas Newydd, dripping wet from the rain. Though he had worn a hat, when he took it off he had to shake water out of his hair like a dog.

‘Been out for a late ride again, Lord Alfred?’ the Duchess of Buccleuch asked, emerging from a doorway.

‘Shouldn’t you be in bed by this time, duchess?’ he replied without gracing her with a look. ‘At your age, I mean.’

The relationship between the duchess and Lord Alfred had remained more than icy since Christmas. In his defence, he had agreed to marry Wilhelmina. No one said anything about having to be nice to the duchess.

‘What are you waiting for?’ she asked. ‘For your beau to rescue you?’

‘Let it go, duchess. You have already won.’

Alfred left her with that, and went upstairs to get dry and try to sleep. Let her think she was winning, he thought… just as long as she wasn’t really.

*

‘…Mr Drummond? Mr Drummond?’

Edward jumped, nearly spilling his morning coffee. ‘Sorry. Yes, Wood, what is it?’

‘More toast, sir? Or coffee?’

Edward was so lost in his thoughts he had to think about that for longer than necessary.

‘No, thank you.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Edward tried to come back down to earth and opened his newspaper, since he didn’t have much appetite for his breakfast anyway. He was glad to see no mention of his own name or that of McNaughten anymore. The scandal had run out its course. Good.

After studying the politics columns, he flipped to sports. That’s where he saw an advertisement for the Royal Thames Yacht Club membership. He realised he had never asked them about the elusive Belle Dame.

It was worth a try.

*

‘How about a walk in the gardens today?’ Lady Anglesey, Alfred’s mother, asked at breakfast. ‘Now that the rain has finally stopped.’

Everyone agreed it was a good idea. Except Alfred, who remained silent, pushing around his scrambled eggs on the plate.

‘And then perhaps I could show you where we’ll put the new gardener’s cottage.’

Again, everyone responded positively, while Alfred pretended he didn’t exist.

‘Or maybe a ride in the woods? Hm, Alfred?’ Lady Anglesey said now turning to him in the seat right next to her.

Alfred gave her a brief smile and said, ‘Whatever you wish, Mama.’

‘Are you getting ill, pumpkin?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You do look a bit wan, my angel.’

‘I said I am fine, thank you, Mama. You go take a walk. I shall stay in.’

‘Mayhap Lord Alfred has become bored of Wales,’ Buccleuch croaked from across the table. ‘I say it is finally time to return to London.’

Alfred dropped his knife and fork with a loud clatter. He really wasn’t in the mood to pretend today. Or anymore at all. It had been two damn months. Where was Edward?

‘I am perfectly happy here with my family, as I daresay is Miss Coke, am I not right?’

Wilhelmina, though unhappy about being separated from her own beau back in France, had been more comfortable with the Pagets than at court if she was honest, so she nodded enthusiastically. Despite being engaged to Lord Alfred, she was not allowed to talk privately to him and therefore plot their way out of this nonsense. Alfred could only reassure her he had a plan. Most frustratingly, what that entailed remained a mystery to her.

No one was as frustrated as Buccleuch, who did not love being surrounded by Pagets for months.

‘But I really feel it’s been too long—’

‘Don’t listen to the duchess, she merely wants to enjoy the comforts of the Palace. Mama, Papa, Adelaide, pay her no heed. You know women of her age, always complaining about the finest things. They keep imagining things that are not there. It's senility. She’ll grow out of it. Soon.’

Alfred said that last while mimicking a cut throat with his finger.

Henry chuckled to himself, as did Adelaide, Alfred’s teenage sister who was the only one still living at home full time, but they fell silent at Lady Anglesey’s scolding glare. Even the poodle in Adelaide’s lap stopped trying to steal some bacon from the table. But really, Lady Anglesey had the most right to tell the duchess to stuff it, given it was her main responsibility to entertain her, but table manners preceded her opinions. If she had been able to keep her decorum when years ago Henry had practically undressed her with his eyes on the ballroom floor while her first husband watched on, Alfred could refrain from morbid comments at breakfast!

‘I do apologise for my son’s rudeness, duchess…’

‘No, Mama, allow me,’ Alfred cut in. ‘Duchess, I do apologise for my mother attempting to apologise for my rudeness as I assure you every bit of it was wholeheartedly intentional. I find I am not hungry,’ he added, leaving the dining room swiftly.

‘Wilhelmina, stay,’ the duchess barked when her niece meant to follow Alfred out of the room.

So Adelaide stood.

‘Darling, leave him be,’ Lady Anglesey said, much more gently than the duchess had spoken to Wilhelmina.

‘It’s not Alfred. I’m afraid nature is calling little Padge here,’ she announced and skipped out of the room.

She found Alfred brooding outside on a bench.

‘That’s still wet, you know,’ she told him.

Alfred shrugged and kept smoking his cigar. Adelaide sat down next to him.

‘That’s still wet, you know,’ Alfred imitated her in a high pitched voice.

‘Very funny. What’s this thusness, Alfie?’

‘I know you’ve inherited Grandpapa’s sizeable nose but there is really no need to stick it where it doesn’t belong.’

‘Gosh, you really are awfully sour this morning,’ she remarked nonchalantly, fighting with Padge the poodle as he was trying to escape. ‘Is it because I am blonder than you?’

‘You’re not…’

‘Dream on, Alfie.’

‘No.’

‘Is it because of Duchess Buck-Her?’

‘Adelaide!’

‘First of all, hypocrite. Secondly, is it though? Or is it because of Miss Coke? She is not quite your type.’

‘My type?! Where do you get all this nonsense from?’

‘Mama says this all the time. She says she always thought you’d find someone with something about her. Don’t get me wrong, she is a nice enough girl but that’s all. We do wonder what you see in her.’

‘When you’re older—’

‘Don’t give me that, it doesn’t suit you. Have it your way, Alfie. Parrot others and throw insults out in the open. I’m sure she’ll _manage_ you when she’s your _wife_. I do worry if she is cut out to become a Paget but that might change when she grows up.’

‘Grows up!?’

‘She is closer in age to me than you.’

‘Are you calling me old now!?’

‘I’m fifteen. Twenty-six is old to me.’

‘Did you have a point or have you just come to make me feel even worse about myself?’

‘You’re right,’ Adelaide sighed and let the poodle go run amok in the garden. ‘I think this calls for Papa’s intervention.’

*

Edward took a cab to the yacht club right after work. Feeling lost, he wandered into the lounge. His relief was instant when he saw Stephenson there, just ordering a glass of scotch.

‘Drummond!’ he rejoiced as soon as he saw his old colleague.

‘Stephenson!’ Edward replied, shaking his hand firmly. ‘How are you?’

‘Good, good, can’t complain. Bentinck is a bit mental sometimes but I’m only doing the paperwork. Plus, Mary and I have another littleun on the way.’

‘No way! Congratulations!’

‘Thanks. I’m hoping it’s a girl this time. I’ve already got one boy for politics, one for the army, one for business, and there’s no point of having one for the church with me as his papa!’ Stephenson joked lewdly, though out of earshot of anyone else in the lounge.

Edward pretended to laugh along. ‘May I join you?’

‘Well, of course, my man,’ Stephenson said heartily and ordered another scotch for Edward. ‘I didn’t know you were a sailing man.’

‘I am… not,’ Edward said, deciding not to lie about something this easy to debunk. ‘I am just looking.’

‘For what?’

‘I am not sure.’

‘Drummond, my man, you are not making sense.’

‘I, uh… I was supposed to meet a friend here. But he only told me to look for the Belle Dame. Have you any idea what that means? Who is she?’

‘Why, I believe the Belle Dame is not so much a who but a what. It’s one of the new yachts harboured right here by the club.’

‘A yacht?’

‘Why, yes. If you say your friend is meeting you there, just make your way through the restaurant, out the back, and you’ll reach our private docks.’

Edward, for the first time since finding Alfred’s note, felt hope in his chest. He excused himself and went to the docks, reading every docking yacht’s name painted in cursive on the side.

There it was, La Belle Dame, a brand new yacht with crisp white sides and the finest, polished woodwork. Edward looked this way and that. There was not a soul who watched him. He was a gentleman in a gentleman’s yachting club.

He hopped aboard. After having a look around on the deck, he approached the door that lead inside. It was locked. That’d be where the key ought to come in. If it opened this lock, Edward felt sure Alfred had left this for him and he was in the right place.

Sure enough, the small, silver key opened the door and Edward, careful not to hit his head in the low ceilings, entered to investigate further. He found a comfortably sized room with some furniture that had clearly never been used. It was like a bedroom and a study all in one. Everything was new; there was a washstand with towels that were still tied with a ribbon of the factory that made them. There was also a wardrobe containing three sets of day clothes and one set of riding clothes and boots. There were no nightshirts.

Edward smiled genuinely for the first time in months. Alfred.

Other than this, the shelves were empty, and so were all the drawers of the writing desk, all except for one, which contained one thing. A book. Edward picked it up, instantly recognising it as his Coleridge volume, remembering the time Alfred fell asleep reading it. Its cover was irredeemably bent from that incident.

Edward opened it and saw that “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” was marked. He flipped to it, hungry for words. Once on the right page, he found more than just the poem.


	21. Losing Hope

Wood livened up the fire in the sitting room. As always, Mr Drummond was likely to arrive late.

The upkeep of this house was manageable since they only used a few rooms and housemaids cleaned up every Sunday thoroughly. Wood was left with little else to do than his usual tasks. He had taken to borrowing books from the library and… not much else. He wanted to stretch his legs but anything like that seemed out of the question. He certainly couldn’t follow Lord Alfred’s advice to _meet_ people. With this discretion, he had no chance of spending time with other household staff and since _thé dansants_ and plays were on in the evenings, just when he was actually working, it was a lost cause.

So someone had to guard this house. This humongous, quiet, overwhelming house. Sometimes he was so bored he took to the ballroom for a stroll or a bit of exercise. What a thing to do! It wasn’t exactly the life he imagined for himself when coming to London, though he couldn’t complain. He was, however, getting a taste of Mr Drummond’s troubles: he knew what it meant to spend every day in this little palace but with no one to share it with. This really was a lonely existence.

Wood didn’t exactly feel sorry for his boss – who could really be unhappy with the kind of fortune that the gentleman had? It was horrible that marriage between gentlemen and ladies was more akin to business rather than a declaration of love (or in this case, to avoid the woes of blackmail) but at least they had all the luxuries of the world to comfort them. Alas, despite his envy, he had to admit that Mr Drummond was demonstrating a good example of being inconsolable by wealth when it came to real matters.

At least there were no more torn shirt buttons he had to fix every single morning.

Embarrassingly, this fact reminded him that he was also trying not to wonder too much about how Wilson was doing in Wales. He _had_ offered to Mr Drummond that he would write to Lord Alfred’s valet… Solely for news on his lordship, of course… Alas, Mr Drummond decided it was probably not the safest idea. Wood was secretly quite disgruntled about that. He didn’t see why his friendship with a colleague should depend on the blackmail.

He also didn’t see why he should not use the house when the fact of the matter was, he was its main and sole occupant while Mr Drummond was out all day.

To hell with it, he thought, and made himself comfortable with a book by the fire in the sitting room. When the cat’s away…

*

Alfred hadn’t joined his family for dinner. He gave no particular reason, but he had been so grumpy and moody that nobody was all that surprised. Surprised, not so, but displeased? Yes, when it came to the duchess afterwards in the salon.

‘…such insolence, he really has to be better controlled. You need to learn to do that Wilhelmina…’

Wilhelmina flushed and kept staring at her book as if it held an equation to the secrets of the universe. At the beginning of their stay at Plas Newydd, she may have tried to soften her aunt’s embarrassing rants by apologising on her behalf to their hosts but time wore her down and tonight she sat quietly pretending to read while the duchess moaned about Lord Alfred’s insolence right in front of his mother.

‘…after all, it is nearly the start of the season and he will have mountains of duties to get through at the Palace and very soon, too! Just last week I had a letter from Her Majesty herself about—’

‘You know, duchess, if you miss London so dearly, why not travel back alone?’ Lady Anglesey suggested, having had enough. ‘I daresay you can trust me to chaperone Wilhelmina so there shan’t be any impropriety. After all, she is almost family.’

‘Why, that is out of the question!’

‘Why not ask her? Wilhelmina, darling, would you like to stay with us without your great-aunt?’

‘Yes, I—’ Wilhelmina began but of course the duchess interrupted, with a loud thud of her walking stick meeting the floor.

‘This idea is not to be borne!’

‘Oh, do let the girl breathe, duchess. I have found many mothers and guardians of only daughters frequently overbearing but you sound as if you should like to be a spectator on her and Alfred’s wedding night!’ Lady Anglesey said without thinking and ordered a footman to bring her some brandy.

‘Ah, see, this is exactly the sort of talk in this house from which Wilhelmina must be protected—’

‘What did I say?’ Lady Anglesey pretended. ‘I see you are imagining things, just as my Alfred says. James, do see to it that the duchess retires to bed immediately, she is clearly overtired.’

Buccleuch wanted to argue but this round was won by Lady Anglesey, who had been holding back all winter but not anymore.

‘Very well. Wilhelmina?’ the duchess stood and ordered.

‘No, I want a word with Wilhelmina before she goes up. You go, duchess. We shan’t be long.’

Reluctantly and reproachfully, they got rid of the duchess. Lady Anglesey told the footmen to leave as well.

‘Finally, some privacy!’ Lady Anglesey said, leaning back a bit. Wilhelmina smiled timidly. ‘I do envy Henry, you know. He can just stay in the dining room and have a cigar all by himself, no droning dowagers or idle chit-chat, just tranquillity.’

Lady Anglesey, of course, had no idea that her daughter was not exactly leaving Henry any peace in the dining room.

‘Papa! Papa! Listen, to me Papa!’

‘Saint gargoyles, Adelaide, you should be in bed!’ Henry exclaimed and got up, despite his aching leg, to open up a window. ‘This smoke is not fit for a young lady, not to mention that menace of a dog in your hands.’

‘I will go to bed, but I had to talk to you before I go up.’

‘Well, you had the whole dinner to talk to me.’

‘I could not in front of the others. Now, listen quickly, otherwise Padge will start to get cross and start barking and thus give me away to Mama.’

‘I am all ears, Adelaide – not that I have any other choice,’ he grumbled, begrudgingly sitting back down.

‘Thank you, Papa,’ Adelaide said and pulled up a chair. ‘I want you to talk to Alfred.’

‘I talk to him all the time, my dear.’

‘You know what I mean. He is not himself these days. He’s whiny and no fun. It’s getting on my nerves. He’s almost as bad as Septimus when he first fell in love…’

Adelaide trailed away, surprised at the words that came out of her mouth, which got her thinking.

‘Well, I dare say Alfred is not in love,’ Henry remarked sadly.

‘No, he is not… not with Miss Coke, that’s for sure.’

The suggestion lingered in the air between them and their eyes met as if in conspiracy.

‘What are you implying, my girl? Do you know something?’

‘No, I don’t. Do _you_ know something?’

‘I don’t know anything.’

‘Well, nor do I know anything.’

Henry and Adelaide came to a standstill. She watched him closely from the corner of her eyes, and so did he.

‘Did Alfred ever imply to you that he has taken a liking to anyone in particular?’ he asked her.

‘No… but Papa, he doesn’t have to. As I said, we Pagets only ever go so berserk when it is about romance. And he is being absolutely insufferable. It must be love.’

‘I see this is what I have to prepare for when you are introduced at court next year, huh?’

‘That, you do, Papa. It is inevitable. I fully intend to have my own novelesque romantic complications – a woman in this age without at least three heartbreaks before she marries has not lived at all.’

‘Heartache, huh? Means more headache to me!’ Henry grumbled, massaging his temples.

‘Coffee?’ Lady Anglesey asked in the salon.

‘I’m not supposed to…’ Wilhelmina began but, also tired of the duchess’s tyranny, thought better of it. ‘Yes, please, I would love some coffee.’

Lady Anglesey smiled and poured her a generous cup. ‘I won’t tell.’

‘So… what could I possibly tell you, Lady Anglesey?’

‘Uh-uh, what did we say?’

‘Sorry. Charlotte.’

‘That’s better.’ Lady Anglesey eyed the girl for a second. ‘Have you always had such a nervous disposition?’

‘W-well, I, uh…’

‘Do not think I judge or pity you. I used to be just the same.’

‘That can’t be true.’

‘No, really, I was a jittery mess, every time anything was expected of me, even something with as little risk as picking the colour of my dress. It was my upbringing. I was told I had to keep my mouth shut and let others decide what was good for me. I only learned to speak up when it was too late. Well, it _seemed_ as if it was too late – it is a miracle that I had a second chance at happiness. Alas, I do wish I had had the courage to declare what I wanted in the first place.’

‘Forgive me, Charlotte, I could never imagine you with nerves like mine.’

‘Well, it’s true, nobody orders me about. Anymore.’

‘You mean… my aunt… I apologise for her crudeness. She does like to speak her mind.’

‘She certainly seems keen on speaking for you. How you have not rebelled against her is beyond me!’

‘I am not like you. Not brave, I mean,’ she added, worried she sounded offensive.

‘As I said, I wasn’t always like this. Some difficult things in life toughened me up to be this way. I don’t just mean the divorce and marrying Henry. It was a milestone, that’s for sure. But, my dove, you don’t have to be me to stand up for what you want. Have you ever decided anything in your life? Before this cup of coffee, I mean.’

‘Not really.’

‘Maybe you should.’

‘Nobody ever lets me make up my own mind.’

‘Nobody ever wants to let any woman do that. Maybe one day they will have learnt to remember but until then _you_ have to remind them, should they forget.’

At that moment, they heard high-pitched barking coming from the dining room next door.

Lady Anglesey sighed. ‘Perhaps we taught Adelaide this too much. I should go and see that she does go to bed. And you, just promise me, think about your choices before it is too late. I would rather you spoke now than later. Really. Believe me, the truth comes to light sooner or later.’

‘But that’s just it,’ Wilhelmina squeaked in desperation. ‘The truth must never come out.’

‘What do you mean?’ Lady Anglesey asked, surprised.

Wilhelmina struggled to speak, though she wanted to. In the end, she just fled the salon and ran upstairs.

*

Wood had the best nap ever. The fire he’d made was still crackling brightly when he opened his eyes, slowly, yawning comfortably behind the book he had nicked from the library.

He nearly jumped out of his seat when he realised Mr Drummond was sitting in the other armchair.

‘Wh-OH MY—I… I’m sorry Sir Drummond, I mean Mr Sir, I mean—’

Drummond just held up a hand calmly, never ceasing to stare into the fire.

‘That is alright, Wood. Do stay.’

The valet was fairly sure there was something about this being absolutely out of the question in some servants’ handbook but Mr Drummond’s expression and unmoving, pondering gaze were emanating such an odd energy that he dared not disobey him.

Edward was also holding a book in his hands. The Coleridge volume.

Wood wasn’t sure whether to refer to it by way of making small talk, or whether he should speak at all.

Edward opened his mouth several times as if wanting to say something but changing his mind about it. Thinking. Frowning. Biting his lip. Thinking.

‘Mr Drummond, sir, are you quite well tonight?’ Wood asked finally.

Drummond looked at his valet at last. Slowly. Troubled.

‘I can’t sail a yacht,’ he declared.

‘Excuse me, sir?’

‘I cannot… why would Alfred think… I have never in my life… I cannot sail a yacht. Or any kind of boat.’

Wood stared at him confounded.

‘Of all things!’ Edward continued, standing up and pacing slowly around the room. He was completely flabbergasted. ‘I row, I swim, I kayak, I canoe, I fish, I even punt on occasion, but never sail. Why would Alfred rely on me to sail his yacht?’

‘Lord Alfred is back in London?’

‘No.’

‘Has he written to you, Mr Drummond?’

‘No, Wood, no, he hasn’t,’ Edward replied, explaining quickly about the key and the yacht and the messages. ‘Now he wants me to sail all the way to Wales. In fact, he left me quite specific instructions on exactly what to do, when, how, where. It’s all in here.’

‘In poetry?’

‘In notes written on the margins. For pages and pages. But I cannot manage it, Wood. I cannot sail. I have failed him!’

Edward flopped back down into his armchair, hugging his book to his chest.

‘I could teach you, sir,’ Wood said after a minute.

Edward looked at him like he just declared himself King of England.

‘I mean it, sir. I’m from Eastbourne. I know how to sail alright. Not fancy little things like yachts especially, but they can’t be that different from fishing boats, can they?’

Wood regretted opening his mouth, not for the first time, as Mr Drummond’s glare was inscrutable yet very intense.

‘I will buy you a house as big as this if you help me,’ Edward said and meant it.

The next morning found them at the docks for the first day of lessons.

*

Alfred couldn’t concentrate on the simplest texts. He had to read every paragraph and every poem twice over and still their meaning wasn’t quite getting through to him.

He cast his book aside on the bed. He had been staying cooped up in his bedroom for days, never joining anyone for any activities or meals. He only left late at night to ride out to the bank by the river searching for a light but he remained disappointed.

He was getting worse and worse every day. On this day, he hadn’t even dressed at all despite it being past noon. What was the point? Alas, his stomach rumbled loudly. Wilson informed him the night before that Lady Anglesey forbade anyone from taking up meals to him anymore, to lure him out of his room. He had to give in sooner or later.

When he left his room at last, at an odd hour in the afternoon, it was out of this irregularity that he ran into Wilhelmina alone on the stairs for the first time since traveling to Wales.

She clutched a letter in her hands and she had clearly been crying.

‘Wilhelmina?’

‘Lord Alfred,’ she said in a small voice, hiding her face. ‘I’m just going up to change for tea.’

She tried to scurry away up the stairs.

‘But Wilhelmina! Please,’ he said to stop her before she fled. ‘I’m sorry. I realise this has been frustrating for you and me alike. Let me reassure you I do have a plan it’s just taking longer than I hoped.’

She accepted that without argument, though he wasn’t sure she believed him.

‘Perhaps we should just do it,’ she said sadly.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Would it be so wrong? It is hopeless. I cannot lie to your family anymore. Last night I nearly confessed everything to you mother. You are making a liar out of me, Lord Alfred.’

‘Is that why you are crying?’

‘I am not crying!’ she said, her voice cracking.

‘What’s that?’ he asked gently, indicating the letter.

‘If you must know, Bernard doesn’t want to see me again. He is offended because I stopped writing to him so abruptly and because I have not written to him for so long. He says he considers our acquaintance broken.’

‘That cannot be… Wait, was it addressed here?’

‘Of course, here, where else?’

‘Not to the Palace and forwarded here?’

‘No, here. What does it matter how and where it was addressed, the contents are what pain me so!’

‘It matters a great deal. Have you considered that it might be a forged letter?’

‘Forged?! By whom?’

‘By the duchess, of course.’

‘Just because your mind is constantly on plotting – you credit her with more malignity than is due, Lord Alfred.’

‘Well, how else do you explain how Monsieur Beauchamp has come to learn about your place of residence?’

‘I do not know but…’

‘I am sure he still cares very deeply about you.’

‘No, he does not. He has forgotten me and detests me.’

‘I doubt that. I know that—’

‘You don’t know anything more than I do!’ Wilhelmina burst out, tired of others telling her how she should feel. She had to steady herself against the balustrade so as not to sway. ‘I trusted you, Lord Alfred. I don’t think you have a plan at all.’

‘Please, you can trust me…’

‘No, I cannot. You don’t even trust yourself. How could I? Wake up. We have been engaged for months. And whatever happens, nothing in the world will make my aunt unlearn what she has discovered about you. She will always have this hold over you.’

‘No one will believe her anyway.’

‘If you really believed that, you wouldn’t have taken such drastic measures!’

‘She wouldn’t… it is libel...’

‘It’s not just libel. It is the truth. Isn’t it?’

Alfred could not deny it. He didn’t want to think about how they prove it, it sufficed to say that it would be the humiliation of a lifetime to have to submit to the authorities in case he (or Edward) was formally accused. He remembered Lady Flora’s loss of reputation just because of the rumour and she was completely innocent of adultery. That doesn’t mean the news of her physical examination hadn’t got out and spread all over the country. That said, Alfred hadn’t been with Edward in so long a time that he would pass any such examination… Aside from a lingering scar from when Edward tickled him off the bed and he scraped his elbow against the corner of the bedside table amidst a fit of giggles, his alabaster skin was immaculate of any mark or blemish that would have given away the fact that he had ever had any nights of passion with Edward.

‘I love him and I regret nothing,’ Alfred said through a fresh pang of longing for Edward.

‘Look, I do not care what you get up to with Mr Drummond. You are a good man and I should like to think we can still be friends. But you told me we will win. Will we? It feels rather like we are very much losing, Lord Alfred. What are you even waiting for? Whatever it is, it is not coming. No one is coming to help us. Face our reality, Alfred. We must return to London very soon, Her Majesty is asking for us. It’s only a matter of time before she orders us. We cannot delay this forever. Perhaps we shouldn’t. I would make a good wife, I think. I promise I will not get in your way. I may not be Mr Drummond but I would be loyal and kind and…’

Alfred turned around and ran down the steps not wanting to hear this.

Was all hope really lost?


	22. The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred's parents wonder what's behind his moodiness but his hope may just return...

Henry found Lady Anglesey in the garden.

‘It looks like it’ll rain again by sunset.’

‘I know, that’s why I’m trying to do this while I’ve the chance,’ she replied, accepting a casual little kiss from her husband while she snipped away at the hedges with a ginormous and dangerous-looking pair of garden scissors. ‘What did Adelaide say to you last night?’

‘Hm…’ Henry grumbled.

Lady Anglesey stopped cutting the hedge. ‘What?’

‘She put rather an insistent bug in my ear, you know. Alfred really has been a real piece all visit.’

‘Adelaide needed to tell you that?’ she teased him. ‘Did you not notice it for yourself, my dear?’

‘Oh, you… it’s not that… she suggested his behaviour is come as a result of, well, being in love.’

Lady Anglesey sighed. ‘Yes, I thought so, too.’

‘Judging by that reaction of yours, I presume you have also come to the conclusion that it cannot be with Miss Coke.’

‘Don’t be silly. Any two inanimate pencils on my writing desk have more passionate tension between them than Alfred and Wilhelmina. Oh, Henry, I do not like the idea of my child marrying without love. Far from wanting to be a controlling sort of parent but what can we do?’

‘Ah, well… did the girl ever suggest anything that might be behind this?’

‘No, but I do not believe we need to look very far.’

‘Buccleuch, huh?’

‘She has the girl under her power, down to the number of peas on her lunch plate. I imagine the duchess didn’t _suggest_ so much as _informed_ Wilhelmina that she selected Alfred as her husband, without any care for her opinion. The trouble is, I cannot understand—’

‘—why Alfred would go along with it? There’s the rub, isn’t it? Nor do I.’

Lady Anglesey tutted. ‘I thought you would have had a theory.’

‘A theory? Yes, I suppose I have one, or two, or more, each as wild as the next.’

‘Ugh! If the duchess is somehow threatening my child with something… I will kill her. I swear to God, Henry, I will kill her!’

Henry gently took the giant scissors away from his wife, just in case she meant that literally.

‘We could have used your viciousness in the army, my beloved.’

‘And wear those hideous uniforms? No, thank you!’

‘You adore my uniforms!’

‘If you could fit into them…’

‘Oh, Charlotte! I say…’

Henry tickled and kissed Charlotte in the shade of the hedges until she admitted to only teasing – just in time for them to flee the rain that came to drench everything again.

*

Alfred spent the day outside and it was getting late and truly miserable outside. Winter rains turned into spring rain, which was coming down with a vengeance. Still he did not like to go back to the house and face his own thoughts and fears.

What if Edward never came? Alfred didn’t think an ad hoc plan would be strong enough to guarantee a happy ending for all. Should he really do better coming to terms with the idea of actually marrying Wilhelmina?

He got off his horse and landed on the muddy lawn with a dull splash.

‘What am I to do, Horace?’ he asked the steed, scratching its neck where he liked it. ‘What on Earth am I to do?’

As if he understood his words, the horse neighed in the direction of the strait. Alfred followed the direction and his heart skipped a beat.

Through the thick sleet of rain and the moonless darkness of the night, he could see it: a small light in the distance. He let go of the reins and his feet took him downhill to see better. Yes, there really was a light.

_A light._

He had never run faster in his life. He was kicking mud up to his knees, slipping loads of times but he got back up and ran, and ran, and ran, until he could make out a familiar shape on the water, its white varnish and white masts a contrast against the black and grey, blowing in the rain and wind resiliently. There was a torch burning proudly on the deck. In its warm light appeared a silhouette: tall and coming closer, ankle deep in mud but running up the bank just as urgently as Alfred, running, clamouring up the lawn until they collided in the most enormous hug.

‘Edward!’

‘Alfred, my love…’

‘I knew it… I knew you’d come!’

They were kissing as wildly as the rain was falling one them.

‘Thank God, thank God, thank God…’ Alfred chanted in euphoric relief against Edward’s lips. ‘I lived a half-life without you…’

‘As I without you, my love, my love… A-are you sniffing me?’ Edward giggled upon realising what Alfred was doing.

‘I missed you,’ was Alfred’s excuse.

‘After being at sea for two days, I must smell of fish and salt.’

‘Hmmm, it is most arousing!’ Alfred teased and they laughed, oh, how they laughed! After all that anxiety and loneliness.

They navigated the muddy banks downhill and climbed aboard, never letting go of each other. Alfred was still hungry for Edward’s lips when they walked into the shelter of the yacht.

Wood cleared his throat.

Alfred stopped at once but only to bury his giggles into the breast of Edward’s raincoat.

‘I do apologise, Wood, I did not realise we were not alone,’ he said once he composed himself.

‘I can go up on the deck while you talk, your lordship,’ Wood replied, a little embarrassed.

‘Nonsense! In this ghastly weather? Never! I’m just glad you are both safely here. Do stay by that stove and try to stay warm. I’m afraid I can’t invite you in the house. Besides, I ought not to be too long. Edward, have you written to Florence?’

‘Just like you said. She says yes.’

‘Thank God! And the chap?’

‘Though she admits he is _different_ in status than the Honourable Miss Coke, she vouches for Monsieur Beauchamp’s character wholeheartedly.’

‘She thinks it’s a good match?’

‘Yes, yes, she does. And I trust her word. She even wired so as to put me out of my misery whilst her letter was on its way.’

‘Thank God for that invention! And thank God for her! Ha! Look at me. Who knew I would be glad of Florence one day?’

‘Stranger things have happened at sea…’

‘Yes, that reminds me, what took you so long?!’

‘I have never sailed, Alfred.’

‘What?! But there is nothing you cannot do!’

‘Except sailing, my love.’

‘But you do everything! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you try a sporting activity at which you weren’t absolutely brilliant!’

‘Yes, still, factually speaking, except sailing. Until now, that is.’

‘Except… except sailing! Oh! I thought for sure… that’s where I went wrong!’ Alfred kicked himself for his miscalculation but he was laughing at himself now. ‘And here I was thinking my clues evaded you entirely and you’d never come!’

‘Your clues were brilliant but I had to learn and get help,’ Edward said, nodding cordially at his valet.

‘Wood? Well, yes, it’s nice of you to accompany Mr Drummond on this strange journey.’

‘Oh, no, no, no, Alfred. I’ll have you know that Wood is the captain of this ship,’ Edward replied proudly, not minding to give all the credit to his valet. ‘Seriously, without his expertise, I wouldn’t be here.’

‘It’s been an adventure, sir,’ Wood replied modestly.

‘Well, I say! Thank you, Captain Wood,’ Alfred saluted happily.

‘What now?’ Edward asked.

‘I must go back to the house to get Wilhelmina,’ Alfred said regretfully, not wanting to part from Edward for a second.

‘Is this wise?’

‘I’ve had a long time to think about it and yes, we should stick to the plan. I’ll be back,’ Alfred said and kissed Edward before he braved the rainfall again to sneak back into the house.

In her room, Wilhelmina woke up with a gasp. Alfred’s hand flew right on her mouth.

‘Shhh… it’s only me,’ Alfred tried to soothe her but she was in such a fright. He had to give it to her, anyone would be distressed from the experience of a dripping wet, muddy creature looming over their bed in the dead of night. Once she realised it really was just Lord Alfred, she calmed down. ‘Don’t scream… but we have to pack.’

Twenty minutes later, a very cross and very confused Wilhelmina was offered a seat in the cabin of the yacht.

‘What is going on, now, will someone tell me, this instant!?’ she demanded.

‘Well, the duchess has, after all, had some influence on you!’ Alfred remarked, his heart light enough to joke now he was back with Edward again, even if so very briefly.

‘Hardly! Lady Anglesey, however, was absolutely correct: why must I always follow what other people decide for me?! You cannot push me around like this! I demand to know exactly what is happening!’

‘Well, as it happens, Mama is indeed correct,’ Alfred surprised her and she listened. ‘Miss Coke, I will ask you something and you must reply absolutely honestly as it will decide all our fates once and for all. Before I do that, I need to know: do you really love Monsieur Beauchamp?’

‘… he does not care for me.’

Edward looked at Alfred in confusion. Alfred smiled.

‘Edward, did Florence’s letter about Monsieur Beauchamp sound as if he had forgotten all about Wilhelmina?’

‘Not in the least, Alfred,’ Edward replied, having no reason to bend the truth. ‘Why? Did I miss something?’

‘Told you,’ Alfred told Wilhelmina simply. ‘Your aunt must have kept a copy of Beauchamp’s letters in case she wanted to forge one when handy.’

‘You mean to say… Bernard did not write that he wishes to cease our friendship?’

‘Precisely.’

She cheered right up. ‘Yes, I do love him.’

‘And do you have it on good authority that he loves you too?’

‘Yes.’

‘How do you know?’

‘He has told me so, many, many times.’

‘After a few days of acquaintanceship?’ Alfred had to ask, somewhat sceptically.

‘No, in his letters once we had got to know more about each other. You’ll say that doesn’t count, of course, that it is just a few letters…’

‘On the contrary, you have reassured me greatly,’ Alfred told her. ‘If he had told you he loves you after but a brief encounter or two, I would worry it is mere infatuation. I know how powerful its pull can be but… a marriage needs more. The fact that he confessed his love once he had properly learned about your character is music to my ears.’

‘Besides,’ Edward added. ‘Florence confirms his good character and serious intentions.’

‘Therefore, the time has come to make a decision, one that might just be the decision of your life.’ Alfred looked to Edward for courage and continued after a nod. ‘Miss Coke, would you be opposed to eloping with M Beauchamp?’

She eyed Lord Alfred strangely and none of them knew what to make of it… until she got up and started hitting him with her umbrella, chasing him around the room, absolutely furious.

‘I knew—I knew you would—I trusted you and you—of course I would!—you absolute cad—I swear to God our friendship is over!’

‘Wait, did you say you would!?’ Alfred muttered behind his arm with which he protected his face.

She moved to get in another hit but Alfred grabbed the end of the umbrella and she stopped.

‘Yes, yes, I would!’ she said, despite her fury turning into despair.

‘Then why are you hitting me?!’

‘Because you have put me through such agony! Ugh!’

Edward stepped in, taking the umbrella from her smoothly.

‘That is my fault, Miss Coke.’

‘Should I hit _you_ , then, Mr Drummond?’

Wood took away the umbrella and stood well out of reach of them.

‘Yes, I should have come to the rescue much, much earlier,’ Edward said, her authoritative and clear voice bringing peace amongst them all. ‘Please, direct your anger at me, not Alfred, as I am the one who deserves it. However, if I can redeem myself with this, I can divulge the next part of our plan: our next trip leads us to France. Florence knows all about your predicament – though not about Alfred and I, and we should like to keep it this way – and she sends words of encouragement. She has informed Monsieur Beauchamp all about why you have been unable to write to him. He remains devoted to you. Florence has even insisted you stay at her and her and Oscar’s chateau in Brittany so you can plan your wedding properly.’

‘But Alfred calls it an elopement.’

‘It is and it isn’t. It will be quite proper, you will have plenty of time to announce it and send out invitations. The only thing missing shall be the consent and presence of your aunt and guardian, the duchess.’

‘But… how…? She’ll come and extract me from France before I set foot at Florence’s!’

‘That’s where I will come in,’ Alfred spoke up. ‘I will go to London and tell her majesty that this has always been the plan and that the duchess approves of it.’

‘But she does not!’ she fretted. ‘The truth will come out as soon as she is back at the Palace!’

‘By which time I will have discredited her word.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I admit this is not my most wholesome moment but I’m afraid our happiness comes at the cost of some well-timed words against the duchess’ sanity. I shall discredit such ridiculous notions of hers that would suggest that you and I were ever engaged or that I have ever been anything other than good friends with Mr Drummond, not to mention the fact that your absolutely decent and wonderful and long-ongoing engagement in France has simply fallen out of her memory altogether. Since she meant to write to Sir Robert personally, to lessen the already slim chances of him paying heed to her accusations, for the past two months I hinted at her senility in my correspondence with him. She is nothing but a silly footnote in his world, not to be taken seriously.’

Even Wood’s jaw dropped from the shock. It was simply a bit evil.

‘Before you crucify me, I must emphasise, Wilhelmina, you do not have to marry M Beauchamp, should you change your mind. This plan does not oblige you to do anything. However, should you indeed come to an agreement, I confess I have also faked a few letters that prove she had once completely approved of your match. In my defence, the duchess gave me the idea for this final touch.’

‘But this is horrible, Lord Alfred!’

‘Would you like to walk back to the house, marry me, and never see Bernard again instead?’ he asked her and she relented quickly.

‘Oh, you scoundrels!’ she huffed and sat down to think.

‘Now, that sounds like Mama,’ Alfred giggled to himself. Adelaide was wrong, Wilhelmina was indeed susceptible to the Pagets’ spirit, after a fashion.

‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ Wilhelmina spoke after a minute. ‘I am packed, I am here. Lucky for us, I did not bring my own maid. Florence always said she could get me a French one, who knew all about the latest fashions. My bonnets will have to be sent after me, or better yet, I shall shop for new ones. I shall take Lady Anglesey’s advice and stand up for what I want. And I say… Let us sail.’

Alfred and Edward exchanged smiles. Wood went above deck to get the yacht ready to brave the seas, this time towards the Continent.

‘Where are your bags, Alfred?’ Edward asked.

‘I will not be coming with you just now, my love,’ Alfred replied, seeking some privacy with Edward in the corner of the cabin.

‘Not coming? But I thought…’

‘Just make sure to arrive safely in France. Do you need anything? Food? Water?’

‘We can pick up everything in Cardiff before crossing.’

‘What an expert sailor you’ve become! …I rather like it,’ Alfred sighed with longing, committing the image of his brave, unshaven, shabby, wet, heroic, seafaring Drummond to his memory (he would conjure up the image when getting into bed, surely). ‘Alas, I must show myself in the morning to make it seem as if this wasn’t my initiative, and then travel to London. By the time you return, we’ll be safe.’

‘Don’t jinx it. I feel as if every time I feel slightly safe, disaster strikes.’

‘Have faith. Just be safe,’ Alfred said and stole a kiss from Edward, even if Miss Coke was still sulking in her chair not far from them. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you, too,’ Edward replied and let Alfred go.

Though he was sad to have to wait a while more to truly be together with his love, he felt full of life and determination once again.

Alfred watched them set sail, collected his horse, and returned to the house, this time with hope filling in his heart.


	23. The Flaw in the Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred miscalculated his plans and Edward begins to doubt his morals.

Fine, Alfred may have miscalculated. Just slightly.

He did not think he was so bad to plan all this. After all, what the duchess had done (or threatened to do) to him was far worse. Whoever could suspect this outcome?

In many ways, it was just a bit of mischief… nothing to get so worked up about…

Although he would never say this out loud for fear of sounding like an absolute, heartless cad, in a morbid way, this flaw in the plan came in rather handy, if he was honest. It was… like a shortcut, like a twist of fate, albeit a drastic one.

And so it was that after spending less than two weeks in France, Wilhelmina was back at Buckingham Palace. She stepped out of the carriage outside the entrance dressed in black.

‘Miss Coke,’ Alfred greeted her, helping her down the steps and on the gravel. ‘My condolences.’

‘Thank you, Lord Alfred,’ she said politely but she was unsure how to face him in light of what happened.

Behind her, a bespectacled man of gentle manners emerged from the carriage.

‘Let me introduce you to my fiancé. Bernard, this is Lord Alfred.’

Bernard shook Alfred’s hand. ‘Yes, I remember, from the, euh… _les noces_ …’

‘The wedding, yes,’ Lord Alfred helped him.

They conversed in French on the way in, all the way to the throne room, where all were gathered in black for the sad occasion. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert expressed their condolences to Wilhelmina as well.

The procession was splendid, the service touching, and the dinner solemn but as elegant as due a late duchess.

When the guests spread around the rooms afterwards, Alfred lingered in a salon where he knew Edward would follow soon enough. Though all doors were open so that guests could walk here and there, they found some privacy in two chairs by the fireplace.

‘Well… that was less awkward than I expected,’ Alfred remarked, nursing a small glass of port.

Edward, who had been quiet and withdrawn since Alfred broke the news to him, just sat and nodded.

Alfred thought of something to cheer him up: ‘You’ll be pleased to know,’ he said, ‘that this means I can sleep in the house as of tonight once again, now that… everything has been taken care of here at the Palace.’

Well, that came out grimmer than intended. Alfred ate his words. Edward nodded again but he couldn’t manage a proper smile.

‘I apologise if I have neglected you – you know that all I long for is some privacy again,’ Alfred added very quietly and covertly, guessing at the root of Edward’s gloom. ‘Hm, I believe we sat in the same chairs in this very salon, that night, I mean, when I first caught a moment of privacy with you. Before Miss Coke interrupted, that is. Do you remember?’

‘Yes, I remember,’ Edward muttered quietly.

‘We were both so coy. I remember I said it was such a shame no one wanted to join us – when, of course, I could have jumped for joy to have you all to myself at last. Even for a chat. Not even that, just to sit with you. To enjoy the sight of you. And then what you said, rather daring in tone, I must say, was “What _are_ we going to talk about?”, which I thought extremely… well…’

Alfred smiled to himself. Edward softened.

‘It was a simple question,’ he claimed.

‘No, no, it was flirtation, that’s what it was.’

‘I merely asked what we were going to talk about.’

‘No, you said “what ARE we” in that sort of way…’ Alfred insisted, and Edward blushed somewhat, but he was overcome with worries again.

‘What _are_ we going to talk about tonight, Alfred?’ Edward asked, not at all flirty. He was rather anxious.

Alfred sighed. ‘I am so dreadfully, dreadfully sorry about this.’

‘Did you… did we… never mind,’ conflicted, Edward stopped himself before he asked it.

‘Say it,’ Alfred encouraged on the contrary.

 _Did we kill the duchess?_ was what Edward wanted to ask.

‘I just feel responsible, somehow,’ he whispered fearfully.

Alfred’s eyes fell shut. Edward had been saying this for days now. ‘You did nothing wrong.’

‘I had a hand in it…’

‘Edward, stop, we have been through this.’

‘How can you be so calm?’

‘I am calm because I can speak with absolute clarity of conscience. Truly. It was a natural occurrence. I couldn’t have predicted it, nor did I wish it. Do you doubt me?’ he asked, big blue eyes fixed on Edward softly.

‘I do not doubt you—your intentions. But she suffered her illness upon learning Miss Coke had run away!’ Edward whispered yet more fearfully.

‘Which we needed to do because _she_ forced us to.’

‘But in my—in your—in our yacht, sailed by myself and—’

‘Shh!’

Wilhelmina and Bernard entered the salon, arm in arm.

‘Oh! We did not mean to disturb you, gentlemen,’ she said sweetly.

Alfred stood up at once, just like all those years ago in the same room – stealing a secret glance from Edward.

‘No, please, do take a seat. And you, Monsieur Beauchamp, we shall pull up a chair for you, too.’

The four of them settled comfortably around the fire, drinking port. They chatted some, mostly reminiscing about France. Nobody wanted to talk about the duchess. So they were left with small talk… far too small for this dark day.

Alfred wondered whether Wilhelmina also blamed him and Edward, or whether she also felt a share of their guilt.

He had to admit, Edward had a point.

The Duchess of Buccleuch suffered a heart attack the morning after Wilhelmina had sailed away to France in the dead of night. Turns out, she really thought she was winning, so the shock and surprise of this move was much too hard a blow and, well… she lingered for a couple of weeks but then—and Alfred felt most guilty about this part—his own nasty comments about her timely death happened to come true.

Above all, and somewhat selfishly, Alfred regretted that even in death, the duchess prevented him and Edward from being together after months apart. Alfred brought back the duchess and stayed in his own rooms at the Palace for the time being. It was only now that the funeral was done that it felt appropriate to move back home to Grosvenor Place. This meant that Edward, once returned from France, had remained alone for those couple of weeks in that big, empty house, still having to wait, which did nothing to improve his mood. And, because he was so wholesome, this whole tragedy hit Edward hard, worsened by the weight of unnecessary guilt.

Edward tried to put his mind at ease but he couldn’t help some long-repressed ambivalence about Alfred’s morality resurfacing in him. He loved Alfred endlessly, of course, this was not to be doubted. However, he remembered the agony of doubt about Alfred’s… he didn’t want to call it that but he was thinking about Alfred’s _wickedness_.

Alfred was good, he was kind, and he was a fierce and loyal friend. He was also a gentleman, the finest kind. But sometimes… Edward did not forget that day he chased him through the forest in Scotland… the way he lead him into the wilderness, that look in his eyes, how he convinced him to unleash his passions… yes, it was wickedness of a kind. And how he plotted against Florence – he was rescuing Edward from a distressing future, and he was so clever, and he got Florence her happy ending as well, and would Miss Coke be sitting here engaged to a man she loves if it weren’t for all this? And the Duchess of Sutherland and Prince Ernst wouldn’t be whispering in a dark corner of a salon now if it weren’t for Alfred speeding up the drawn-out tension between them—even if it was borderline blackmail. In the end, all this plotting resulted in a happy ending for all.

Alfred’s means were justified.

But then Edward remembered all those things he knew Alfred had got up to in the past… His past that he promised never to bring up again but it crept back into his mind against his wishes. Alfred admitted to being with men for sexual gratification, without love. It was Alfred, who seduced the Russian prince. Not to mention his time with William… Edward shouldn’t have calculated it for his own nerves’ sake but, if he was correct, Alfred spent a total of five years meeting up with William Peel, at times regularly, at others irregularly. But they kept it up. For five whole years. Who knew what one could get up to in five years with such a notoriously debauched lover? Alfred hinted at some shocking details and that was enough. Edward cursed himself for being naïve enough not to assume Alfred must have been affected by William a great deal. There was a reason why they kept seeing each other again and again, other than valuable gossip or laudanum. Perhaps they were well-suited at the core, and William simply brought out something in Alfred that had always been there.

Edward followed Alfred’s plan without questions. He never imagined that, miraculously, just when she blackmailed Alfred and Edward, the Duchess of Buccleuch would drop dead. What an enormous coincidence, is it not? Edward wondered… Could it really be so impossible to imagine Alfred had a side that he repressed because of Edward? Was he leading Edward into unwholesome ways?

He did not quite believe Alfred acted on purpose or in any way worked to torment the duchess. No, that was unthinkable… he hoped. But he was a God-fearing man. And now he feared Him for Alfred.

‘I must say, France has had an excellent effect on you already,’ Alfred said kindly, and by France he meant independence. ‘When will you be returning?’

‘Next week,’ Wilhelmina replied to Alfred’s question.

‘So soon?’

‘I have little family left here, now that my aunt…’ she composed herself before she teared up again. She detested her aunt’s tyranny, that was true, but she never meant any harm to anyone. ‘I ought not to be away for long for dear Florence’s sake at any rate. As you know she could not travel since little Alfie was just born, so she welcomes all hands on deck.’

‘How delightful!’ Edward replied, heart warmed. ‘How happy they must be!’

‘They are. Florence won’t stop smiling, and Oscar sneaks into the nursery all the time, to see the baby. He thinks we have not noticed but we certainly have.’

‘Do not forget to give them our warmest congratulations.’

‘I will, Mr Drummond. Um…’

She fell silent as she ran out of things to say. Suddenly, she was all too aware that she last saw Mr Drummond aboard the yacht, sailing right back to London after shocking Florence at the docks with his appearance after five days at sea without stopping.

Indeed, Edward practically ran upstairs to have a nice, long bath as soon as he got back to London and stayed soaking in there for two hours, only then did he let Alfred see him.

But then, Alfred, after whom Florence now named her first son due to his ~~plotting~~ heroic matchmaking actions, told him the sad news and rushed back to the palace where the duchess, by then unconscious, was tended to. Until…

So this made it difficult to carry on chatting, on this day particularly, having just had the funeral. Somehow, every few minutes, this unspoken guilt silenced these friends. They all wondered and would wonder for quite some time: were they all complicit in the death of the Duchess of Buccleuch in some way?

No one would charge them with any crime. She was very old. These things happen.

Besides, nobody was aware of any reason big enough to bring the duchess to an early grave. Nobody knew about the brief engagement between Alfred and Wilhelmina or that she essentially escaped her aunt’s clutches by taking to sea so secretively, trusted to be alone with only unmarried men aboard and no chaperone, and everything that came with the story, most illicitly, Lord Alfred and Edward Drummond’s romance at its core.

Nobody, except Alfred’s parents.

Edward leaned close to Alfred when he found the chance.

‘I think I am going home,’ he whispered to Alfred fearfully. ‘I feel found out.’

‘Nobody knows anything,’ Alfred whispered back discretely. ‘ _There_ _is_ nothing to find out.’

‘Nevertheless, I feel as if I am being watched. In fact, I know I am: that lady with the feathers on her clutch has been watching me for the past twenty minutes, I am certain of it.’

Alfred glanced over and rolled his eyes. ‘That is my mother.’

Lady Anglesey had indeed been craning her neck, eager to see the famous Mr Drummond. Alfred waited for Edward to gulp and stutter out his surprise and beckoned him to follow so that he could make their introductions.

Alfred was strangely proud of Edward but also very glad that Henry was not present to see Lady Anglesey positively do a double-take at the handsome man that was Alfred’s “very good friend”. She even swatted Alfred’s arm with her fan as if to gesture “well done!”

Edward kissed the top of her hand and expressed his gladness to meet her. Henry found his way to them, bringing champagne.

‘Ah, I see, you have been introduced,’ he said, somewhat awkwardly. ‘Apologies for being quite late, we miscalculated train times, but we arrived just in time to at least pay our respect. Uh, how, uh, how have you been, Mr Drummond? Since the, uh…’

Edward’s hand shot to his midriff. ‘Never better, Lord Anglesey,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t want to get on your bad side, now that I know how immense pains you can inflict on a man, that’s for sure!’ he added by way of a joke but no one really picked up on it or they did and did not find it amusing. They just sort of kept eyeing him and Alfred in an oddly excited way.

‘Perhaps we should indeed retire,’ Alfred suggested, ushering everyone out of the salon.

‘Ah, of course,’ Henry seconded. ‘Your carriage or mine?’

Edward looked questioningly at Alfred.

‘Oh, right,’ Alfred said to him guiltily. ‘My parents are staying in our house in Grosvenor Place. They didn’t want to send their staff ahead to prepare their own house and make a fuss since they are only in London for one night.’

‘I hope it is no trouble,’ Lady Anglesey added.

Edward had no choice but to reassure everyone that this did not come as any sort of surprise or inconvenience or anything at all. At all. No… not at all.

‘So should I sleep in my own bed tonight?’ Edward asked Alfred covertly at the liquor cabinet once they were all in Alfred’s big townhouse.

Lord and Lady Anglesey were sitting on the couch, whispering all secretively as well, about who knew what, though Edward caught a few of their rather excited glances and felt his throat go dry. He felt as if he was being sized up.

‘Well, that’s, uh… up to you,’ Alfred replied to him unhelpfully.

‘What? What do you mean it’s up to me? Surely we cannot if your parents are here…’

‘I had no idea it took so very long for two grown gentlemen to pour a few drinks,’ Lady Anglesey remarked loudly across the room. ‘Stop flirting and bring them here, I beg you, boys. My head is splitting!’

Edward went beetroot red.

‘Oh, right, yes, I may have neglected to tell you that my parents completely know about us,’ Alfred whispered to Edward quickly.’

‘What!?’

‘You can scold me later,’ Alfred hushed him, then spoke up loudly: ‘Coming, Mama!’

He shot an apologetic look at Edward and balanced a tray of scotch to hand out to his parents.

Edward remained at the cabinet. Indeed, he was rooted to the spot.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Lady Anglesey asked.

‘I’m afraid I only just had the chance to tell him you know about us,’ Alfred explained, taking a seat on the couch opposite. ‘Do join us, Edward.’

Edward seemed to have forgotten how to walk. Even the muscles in his backside tensed from this cold shower. And yet, Alfred was as calm as a cat.

‘Look, I’m sorry, Edward, I told you that the duchess passed away upon hearing that Miss Coke had escaped overnight but I _may_ have forgotten to add that, before she collapsed at breakfast, she may have pointed at me and called me a few extremely specific and very vulgar names first. I believe I owed my parents a thorough explanation after that dreadful scene.’

‘We forced it out of you, pumpkin,’ Lady Anglesey added coolly.

‘Yes, that, too,’ Alfred admitted.

‘But… but… Lord Anglesey, Lady Anglesey, you have been nothing but perfectly kind and civil to me all evening,’ Edward had to say, panic rising in his throat rapidly. ‘Alfred? What does this mean? What is to happen now?!’

‘Well, as you can see, neither Mama nor Papa has cut me out of their will thus far, so I would say you can calm down, join us, and enjoy your scotch, for starters.’

Alfred patted the couch next to himself. Edward sat down, still trying to compute this.

‘F-forgive me, Lord and Lady Anglesey,’ he said, still aghast. ‘Are you really aware of all the, uh, facts?’

‘Henry, I think he’s about to give us the birds-and-the-bees talk,’ Lady Anglesey stage-whispered to his husband, who cracked up enormously. ‘Really, Alfred, I thought you said your beau was tremendously bright! In fact, I am at the brink of being offended for being mistaken for an unworldly woman. Yes, Mr Drummond, we are aware of everything.’

‘More than everything,’ Alfred confessed, a little ashamed, mentally kicking himself. ‘They pulled it all out of me: you, William, Michael… everything.’

‘We knew about Michael,’ Henry remarked casually, even somewhat bored.

Edward looked to Alfred in surprise.

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, Edward, when they said they knew of Michael, I nearly followed the duchess to the grave,’ Alfred admitted with a dark glance at his parents and clutching his heart. ‘Why did you not say anything at the time?!’

‘Oh, well, by God, Alfred, I don’t know,’ Henry replied. ‘There was always something more important: your sisters’ weddings, George going into the army, my banishment from office for supporting the Irish – you can’t expect us to be bothered by you and your friend dallying around the estate in term breaks. You have always been a resourceful child. We just hoped you’d land on your feet, I suppose.’

Alfred, resourceful? Yes... that sounded better than wicked, Edward thought. Or was this simply a euphemism for something truly devilish in him?

But just then, Alfred turned to Edward with his big, blue eyes that could be anyone’s undoing. Alfred really was trying his best to charm him because he was having to tell him about something uncomfortable:

‘I’m sorry, Edward, you won’t like me for this but I’m afraid coming clean to Mama and Papa had to include telling them about Miss Drummond and Miss Wyndham’s story as well.’

Edward woke up from the spell. ‘Alfred!?’

‘I’m sorry… I promise I say this to reassure you, my family offers refuge not only to us but to your sister and Cecilia as well.’

‘But… Gosh, Alfred… this is too much for one night.’

‘Are we to have another heart attack on our hands? I warn you, boys, that’s beyond my surgical skills,’ Henry said half-asleep on the comfortable, cushioned couch.

‘I believe Edward is simply still in shock at your apathy and genteel support of us,’ Alfred said, massaging Edward’s shoulder to help him recover from the shocks of the night. ‘Most people, let alone one’s parents, would not be thrilled to learn any of this.’

‘Hear, hear. Mine would…’ Edward began but didn’t know how to finish. He did not know what his parents would do if they discovered him but he was certain it would be catastrophic. He knocked back his scotch. ‘Sir Robert’s not alone in his cruelty, suffice it to say.’

‘No, he is not. But you can breathe easy, Mr Drummond,’ Henry reassured him. ‘We are on your side. We are certainly not shocked, after all these years! I don’t even believe this is our deepest held family secret.’

‘No,’ Lady Anglesey said. ‘There was that thing with Septimus’s…’

‘Oh, God, yes, let us not even… So, Mr Drummond, no need to fear us. Compared to a lot of escapades of us Pagets through the ages, I trust you to manage this as discretely and safely as necessary. If need be, ask us for advice instead of playing us for fools with an obviously false engagement and whatnot. I would like to avoid another death in my house, if possible, but Mr Drummond, we consider you a part of our family and will protect you at all costs. Understood? Hm?’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

‘Call me Henry, for heaven’s sake. God, Alfred, of all people, did you have to pick a pompous Tory?’

Alfred cracked up even as he apologised to Edward.

Henry chuckled at his own joke. ‘Now, bedtime, children, it is hideously late and Charlotte and I are getting old.’

‘Speak for yourself, Henry!’ Lady Anglesey protested.

*

Alfred showed his parents to the suite that was officially Edward’s, where they would sleep for the night. He then made his way into his own moonlit rooms, where Edward was already waiting, dressed down comfortably in a shirt and trousers.

Edward heard the door gently shut, the key turn in the latch, and a soft thud.

‘Alone, at last,’ Alfred announced sweetly, resting against the door.

The way he was looking at Edward, with tremendous love but also, that suggestive grin… Edward smiled weakly but turned right away from him to fuss with his cufflinks.

Alfred approached him, snaking his arms around him first, breathing him in, kissing him gently on his shoulder, before taking his wrists gently and turning them towards the moonlight.

‘Let me help,’ he said and undid Edward’s cufflinks. He placed them on the vanity table, anywhere. They would care about all that in the morning. He ran his palms slowly up Edward’s arms, his shoulders, his bared neck and kissed him, first gently, but it didn’t take long for passion to overcome them.

‘Wait, stop, stop, my love,’ Edward asked gently, pulling away.

Alfred frowned. ‘I haven’t seen you properly in two months. Don’t you miss me?’

‘Of course, desperately.’

‘Then…’ Alfred continued, kissing Edward’s neck sinfully.

‘Alfred, stop…’

‘Are you angry because I told my parents? I’m sorry… I’ve been a _bad boy_ …’

‘It’s just…’ Edward tried to think, weaselling out of the kisses before he lost his right mind. ‘We held a _funeral_ today, Alfred.’

‘The funeral of the person that kept us apart,’ Alfred muttered nonchalantly.

Edward’s mouth gaped in surprise and he pulled away again. ‘Alfred?’

‘What?’ Alfred asked, coyly unbuttoning Edward’s shirt all the while.

Edward grabbed Alfred’s wrists, not forcefully, but enough to faze Alfred.

‘What’s got into you, Edward?’

‘What has got into _me_? Alfred…’

‘If this is about whose fault it is again, Edward, for the hundredth time, we did nothing, _you did nothing_ whatsoever.’

Edward shook his head, cursing himself.

‘Fine, maybe I can make myself believe that one day, but that is not what’s unseemly about tonight, Alfred. How curiously unfeeling you are, that is what.’

‘Unfeeling!?’ Alfred exclaimed, offended to the core.

‘Yes, it is as if the duchess’s death is merely irritating to you. It’s as if you think good riddance, lucky she is gone.’

‘I never _said_ —’

‘Tell me you don’t think it is lucky for us.’

Alfred hesitated.

Edward let go of Alfred’s wrists, suddenly not wanting to touch him at all.

‘See? God, Alfred, when I think about it… perhaps I don’t know half of what there is to know about you.’

Alfred let Edward walk away, while he remained where he was. He methodically placed the cufflinks into their proper box, one after the other. When he faced Edward after a minute, it was indeed with a look so dark as Edward had never seen before.

‘You are right, you don’t know me at all, if you are even capable of accusing me of such things. Perhaps it is you who regards this tragedy as a stroke of luck and you find it easier to project your guilt onto me. Fine, do so, Edward. Just remember this when a real threat comes.’

‘What sort of…?’

‘You think this was a close call? You think the duchess was dangerous? This was _nothing_ , Edward. Certainly not worth murder if that is indeed what you accuse me of.’

‘I am not accusing you of m-murder,’ Edward said, and it would have been fine, had he not added…: ‘I just…’

Alfred turned on his heels and made towards the door.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To sleep in a guest room.’

The door shut behind him faster than Edward could even open his mouth to utter an apology.


	24. Unshaken Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred has an unfortunate and upsetting meeting at the theatre, which prompts him and Edward to have a difficult conversation. Edward reveals he's wrestled with his faith and Alfred reveals painful memories from his past. A dark night and even darker topics addressed. Will they be able to sort this out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This gets a little bit dark, sorry.  
> TW: mentions of physical violence. Alfred just reveals a few memories and mentions one of his exes - full story back in Ch.9 "Alfred's Vigil".  
> Reasons why I probably shouldn't write fic while listening to NFWMB by Hozier but there we are.

Lord Anglesey’s and Lady Anglesey’s servants were already busy as they had to wake up early for the journey home to Wales. The cook was in the kitchen making breakfast on one stove and her kitchen-maid was already peeling potatoes for dinner, which would be cooked after breakfast but the cook and the maid would be long gone by then. Strange, this house was. Such fine gentlemen but they preferred reheated dinner rather than keep the servants in the house all day. The cook was a nice woman, though, just taking on this extra work now that her husband was no longer fit to work in the factory. She always made sure to leave fresh biscuits for the gents upstairs, just in case, and never smacked the valets when they wanted to “sample” the ones that got slightly darker in the back of the oven.

The valets were in easy conversation at the end of the sturdy kitchen table. Wilson would normally be talking to everyone else, especially that he now knew the Plas Newydd staff well. However, on this morning he was completely engrossed in the tales of Wood’s adventures at sea.

‘Haaaang on, hang on. Did you really sail Mr Drummond all the way to Wales?’ Wilson asked, having to laugh.

Wood sipped his morning tea and pretended not to seem too pleased with himself, playing it nonchalant for Wilson.

‘That, I did. And to France, and back to London.’

‘What, without stopping?!’

‘Well, we stopped in Cardiff and in Nantes to restock some water and food, and to wash – Mr Drummond is made of tougher stuff than I thought – he took a cold bath in a room above a seaside pub without complaints, dead set on getting back to London as soon as possible. He needn’t have bothered, we had rain all the way back across the Channel. With how wet we got, we might as well have swum it!’

Wilson gave a low whistle. ‘That’s mad. That is seriously… impressive.’

Wood bit back a grin as Wilson flashed his bright teeth at him. He was even more handsome when he smiled. Through the winter, Wood almost forgot just how handsome Lord Alfred’s valet was, and now he was back in the deep end when it came to this chap.

He remembered Lord Alfred’s words. Maybe he should take a chance.

‘Say, Wilson, uh…’ he began but someone rang the bell for the servants’ entrance.

‘Ah, that’ll be a delivery,’ Wilson guessed and hopped off the kitchen table and patted Wood’s shoulder. ‘Stay right there, Captain, I’ll get it.’

Wood had to rub his face to literally wipe that grin away that Wilson’s words caused. He was truly under a spell. He had never fancied anyone as much as the fellow valet. And maybe he could actually make himself seem impressive and maybe he’d notice him at last!

Then he heard the laugh of a woman. A young woman. At the servants’ entrance. Wilson, too, was obviously having a delightful chat. Wood stealthily got up and went around the kitchen table to be able to sneak a peek.

‘I say! Wasn’t this too heavy for you?’ Wilson asked a young woman, who had come to deliver some groceries. He was holding a crate laden with vegetables in his hands.

‘Don’t be daft! I had help,’ she said. ‘My mother is up on the street level with the cart. You seem to be managing it well. You’re so strong!’

‘What, me? This is like a feather to me.’

Wood, unseen, rolled his eyes.

‘Won’t you come in?’ Wilson asked the delivery girl.

‘I can’t…’ she hesitated coyly, batting her eyelashes up at Wilson.

‘Come on, just for a cuppa. Won’t hurt, will it?’

‘I mustn’t. My mother wouldn’t like it,’ she said sadly and turned to leave. She turned back before Wilson closed the door with his elbow, as he was still holding the heavy crate. ‘But perhaps on my day off…’

Wilson cheered right up. ‘When’s that, then?’

Wood didn’t stay to listen to this. Great. How foolish he felt now! How could he, with his plain looks and one interesting story, compete with the charms of such a beautiful girl as the one that just got a rendezvous with Wilson?

‘This should last us the week!’ Wilson said happily, heaving the heavy crate of vegetables on the table. ‘Sorry, you were saying something before I, uh…’

The bell to one of the unused upstairs rooms rang. The valets both frowned. Who was this?

‘I’ll go,’ Wood decided, keen to have something to do other than mope because of Wilson.

He found Lord Alfred in this guest bedroom, alone.

‘Your lordship,’ Wood bowed upon entering. ‘Shall I get Wilson to come up?’

Alfred sat up in bed, clearly in a mood.

‘No, you’ll do. You know what, as a matter of fact,’ Alfred added, rather thornily, ‘could you just pass on the message to Mr Drummond that I said—’

Wood fled the room.

He hurried down the hallway and knocked on the suite that Lord Alfred usually shared with Mr Drummond.

‘Come in,’ Edward said from the other side of the door.

Wood entered.

Edward sat up in bed and flopped back down again, disappointed. ‘Oh, it’s you… I thought… Have you seen Lord Alfred?’

‘He slept in the blue room, Mr Drummond.’

‘Oh.’

‘Mr Drummond…’

Edward inhaled sharply, as if fuelling himself with anger and frustration. ‘Could you please tell Lord Alfred that when I said what I said, I meant to say that—’

Wood fled this room, too. He came face to face with Wilson in the hallway.

‘This is all yours,’ Wood said to him in passing, patting him on the shoulder in turn, though rather less out of friendliness. ‘Seeing as you are such a charming conversationalist this merry morn. Do try to get them down to breakfast.’

Breakfast was a tense affair.

‘I like what you’ve done with the house, you boys,’ Lady Anglesey attempted some kind of chatter.

Henry was buried behind the broad sheets of the Times. Alfred and Edward were promptly staying silent in each other’s company on opposite ends of the table. If looks could kill, Alfred would have succeeded. However, his icy glances at Drummond were wasted because the latter did not grace him with a single look all morning.

‘Funny thing happened,’ she tried again airily. ‘I thought I saw your valet, Alfred, hurrying down the upstairs hallway with a single shoe in his hands.’

Alfred stabbed his scrambled egg as if it had offended him. Edward’s hand reached up to his eyebrow.

At least it hadn’t bruised. There would be no awkward questions at the House later at least. He learned the hard way, however, that Lord Alfred’s valet was rather less likely than Wood to question his master’s instructions and also that his aim was impeccable.

‘Where is everyone off to this morning?’ she asked. ‘To the House, I presume, Mr Drummond?’

‘I thought I’d pop into the chapel first, as a matter of fact,’ Edward replied.

‘The chapel? On a Wednesday?’ she asked.

Even Henry let the newspaper fold down halfway to get a look at him. ‘Bad conscience, or what, my chap?’

‘On the contrary. _My_ conscience is fine,’ Edward replied, shooting the briefest look at Alfred over his cup of coffee.

Alfred’s nose twitched from repressed offence.

‘And you, pumpkin?’ Lady Anglesey asked him before he could retaliate with a comeback. ‘What’s the plan for today?’

‘Me, I must catch up with the Royal Horse Guards – there’s a mountain of work on which I missed out whilst in Wales, _which I did for Drummond_ here. I’ve no time to spare for prayers. Perhaps if statesmen had the same practicality of thought, they’d get things done faster and more efficiently as well.’

Edward’s nostril’s widened with all the frustrations of Alfred’s implications – this is what he wished to have no part of. This had been a ghastly and morbid plan that Alfred orchestrated and gave no care for the blemish it would leave on Edward’s conscience. This was all Alfred, NOT Edward, as he would tell himself so again and again at church, too.

As for the comments on the Parliament’s inefficacy – Edward huffed in disbelief. Attack his person, by all means, but the government? Unbelievable!

‘Last night, Her Majesty told me she’s going to the theatre,’ Henry said. ‘Aren’t you going to join her, chaps?’

‘No—’ Edward said.

‘I might,’ Alfred said at the same time. ‘I certainly have an invitation, plus one I can extend to a guest – I would, of course ask Drummond but I fear he is about to pronounce the simple pleasure of going to the theatre as a most ungodly pastime.’

‘A day after a funeral, I might,’ Edward replied.

‘Then we disagree.’

‘Fine.’

‘Fine.’

‘Henry, I think we must get going soon if we are not to be late for the train,’ Lady Anglesey stood, and the men rose from their seats as well.

She asked Alfred, and Henry Edward, on the way out, but neither of them divulged the cause of their obvious conflict.

‘Have fun at church,’ Alfred hissed at Edward before heading to the Palace.

‘Have fun at the theatre,’ Edward replied, leaving for Westminster.

‘I will!’

*

Alfred would eat his words before the end of the day, and so did Edward.

All day, Edward felt terribly self-righteous, especially after his visit to the chapel. He dealt with shadow Whips as smoothly as never before at the House and he even felt confident enough in his excellent work to politely ask Sir Robert to choose his words with decorum before he went on a rant about molly houses popping back up in the city despite regular raids.

He did not endorse the kind of “fun” that was in Alfred’s past but he could not help himself. He was his own man, he had forgotten it whilst under Alfred’s spell, and he was eager to stand up for his beliefs, whether it be in front of his lover or his mentor. Isn’t that what he was there for? To make a difference in the world? A _good_ difference.

He arrived back to Grosvenor Place feeling on top of the world. He was browsing gentlemen’s clubs to join – not the Almanac if he wanted to keep his friendship with Wellington, who was once denied entry there for wearing trousers, not pantaloons – and enjoying a hot cup of tea when the front door opened and shut with a loud bang.

An Alfred-shaped blur dashed across the foyer outside the sitting room and ran up the stairs. Edward looked at the clock: it was far too early for Alfred to be home. He went upstairs and found Alfred in his suite. He had thrown off his coat and his tie and he was now supporting himself with his hands on the vanity by the window, too tired to stand, and though Edward could not see his face, he knew he was crying his eyes out.

‘A-Alfred?’ Edward asked, forgetting all his venom from before.

Alfred was shaking and Edward could not help but approach him. When he did, however, Alfred waved him away.

‘Don’t you care now,’ he spat.

Edward was taken aback but swallowed his pride given Alfred’s state.

‘I do care – Alfred, what has happened?’ he asked.

Alfred stifled a sob, straightened up and faced Edward.

‘How is this for unfeeling?’ he asked, tears streaming down his face.

Edward mentally cursed himself. Something was wrong, very, very wrong with his love.

‘My love—’

‘Don’t you “my love” me before you apologise. I needed you. I needed you tonight. Every night.’

Alfred underestimated how much he had been hurt every time he hoped Edward would show up in Wales and did not. He should have left better clues but it was all in the past now and all that was left was the ghost of pain that he carried with him into bed every night. He also regretted just how much weaker he was for opening his heart to love like this. He used to be so strong, he was his own man, perhaps a bit lonely but no one had the power to affect him so. Too late now. He was in too deep.

‘But Alfred, what’s wrong, what happened – why are you not at the theatre? You are making me imagine all sorts of horrific accidents and God knows what!’

‘Accident…’ Alfred muttered, laughing mirthlessly to himself. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt very un-gentlemanlike and searched for the brandy they always keep above the mantelpiece. He drank straight from the bottle. ‘That was no accident.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Edward asked, all the blood draining from his face at once. ‘Do you… you mean… the duchess?’

Alfred laughed bitterly at that, groaning from frustration as well, nearly succumbing to an animalistic need to just scream into the void but no, he was a gentleman from head to toe. After another hearty swig of brandy, he composed himself and turned to Edward very pointedly.

‘I will say this once and for all, Edward. As regards the duchess, I did not intend for things to turn out this way, as proven by the elaborate plan I had devised for such an occasion, prior to even being cornered by her, before I had even had an inkling of her plans in the first place. But if I had to find it in me to commit such a godless and gruesome crime of which you accuse me, if it was the price of saving you from the same fate or even so much as ruin, I want you to know, even if it frightens you: I hope to God I would gladly rise to the occasion.’

Edward was hit by the weight of what was said. He was both pale with dread and impressed.

‘There. I am _not_ glad she is dead but you know what? Rather her than you,’ Alfred confessed horribly. ‘Rather anyone than you! Rather _me_ than you,’ Alfred continued, choking on his words as his harrowing memories overcame him again and he couldn’t stop more tears.

‘Alfred, forgive me but you _are_ frightening me, my love…’

‘Not as much as I frighten myself. Because I love you so much I could swallow my own sword, Edward,’ Alfred added.

Despite his tears, Lord Alfred was radiating strength. His previously soft, blue eyes turned icy and his features seemed hardened and worn, worse than when he learned of Edward’s engagement, worse even when Edward was shot.

‘Think what you want of me but I would give my own life to save yours any day.’

‘So would I, Alfred. But what’s happ—’

‘No,’ Alfred responded at once, harshly. ‘NO. You cannot—No. No. No! Not. To. Be.’

Edward followed Alfred around the room as he paced.

‘Alfred, whatever on Earth has happened that has affected you so? Tell me, my love, what brought this on? Please, Alfred,’ Edward pleaded, on the verge of crying as well. ‘Is it something I’ve said?’

Alfred faltered and stopped at a window to cool his forehead against the glass.

‘You are right. There are things that you do not know about me,’ Alfred said quietly.

He was tired and leaned against the windowsill, in the shade of the heavy, velvet curtain, shy of the moonlight. Edward’s heart was breaking for him but Alfred didn’t let him near him just yet and so he listened.

‘There are “good people” who do evil in the world all the time, Edward. One rarely meets someone like you, who still believes it otherwise. If politics hasn’t taught you that, what will? I suppose I wanted to protect you from the knowledge. I certainly did not want to be the cause of this discovery but it seems I am failing you. Have I blemished your innocence? Have I besmirched your conscience? Have I marred your soul?’

‘No, Alfred, my love, what are you saying? I did not truly live before you.’

‘Have you got scared?’

Edward could have lied.

‘A little bit, yes,’ he admitted. ‘Forgive me.’

How stupid Edward felt for doubting Alfred! In his defence, he was being told every day at work and every Sunday at church that he was wrong to love Alfred and so his own guilt amplified something insignificant, indeed he wondered whether Alfred was wicked—of course he wasn’t, his right mind suspected that. In any case, any remaining doubts about his malevolence would vanish as he listened.

‘‘No, I… it’s… I expected so.’

‘You’ll say my faith is too middle-class.’

‘I will not say anything of the sort. It is your right to… I forget you believe in all that. For me, it is a ritual, like being expected to show up for tea. For you, it’s real. I ought to be more considerate of it.’

‘I shouldn’t fall for scaremongering…’

‘No, there is plenty to be afraid of but it isn’t God. Things you don’t even know… perhaps I should tell you, so you understand. I did not want to reveal my weakest moments but here it goes. You have to know, you have to be prepared.’

Alfred leaned against the curtain, letting it comfort him like the arms of a mother.

‘When I was about six, I wanted to join my sisters for a tea party in the treehouse at home but my brother George told me it was for girls and stuck his foot out so that I would fall in the mud. Our governess did not believe me, too cross about my dirty clothes. I didn’t mind, we were small. I’d lay my life down for George, as for anyone in my family. Even when… When I was eleven, I tried on my sister’s veil as a bit of mischief and this same governess struck me so hard that it left a big red mark on my face, for all to see. It was the day before my eldest sister, Emily’s wedding and she told me not to make a fuss so as not to ruin her day, so I did not. I did not mind that either. It was her wedding day, I was just her impish little brother, I’d get over it. And I did. Trouble is, things would get harder to get over as the years progressed. When I was fifteen and new at the academy, the last years would…’

Alfred sniffed back tears and took a breath so as to be able to continue. He was so very tired.

‘We would have a weekly ride, an obstacle course of sorts, across the estate and the forest lining the school grounds. I excelled at it without fail – the Welsh hills on which I had learned to ride were far more challenging. The older students had targeted me anyway – I was told this was normal for every new student, a sort of initiation, though their insults were rather personal. With this hair, I stood out very much. Of course, they didn’t need to call me a girl but I did not mind, I could always outride them and annoy them. This first year girl beat them every week. One day, while on the course, an older student misdirected me on purpose and I found myself in a small, dark clearing in the woods. Out of nowhere came a dozen of his mates, some on horseback. I was dragged off the saddle and they kicked me until they were satisfied. I was left to complete the course like that, bruised and battered. The instructor, busy being angry at my unusually poor run time, didn’t believe me or didn’t care. I went to the headmaster, and he did not believe me, all those boys I claimed attacked me were such fine, young men, after all. It was unthinkable! He told me to “man up”. And still, I did not mind so much, because I had Michael.’

Alfred looked up at Edward with watery, blue eyes full of pain.

‘When Warwick died… and they told everyone it was an accident…’

Alfred choked on his own words as a fresh bout of heartbreak overcame him, and fresh tears streamed down his face.

‘God, Edward, I _was_ at the theatre…’

_Earlier that evening, Alfred followed Her Majesty and Prince Albert into the royal box, leading Harriet on his arm. He was used to the usual spotlight when first appearing in plain sight of the common people in the audience. Some gawked at the queen, some were too busy fighting over binoculars to do so. Others, however, were the upper class patrons in other boxes, who had just enough time to come over and wish Victoria a good evening. This was the perfect social situation to remind Her Majesty of one’s existence – one did not have to make too much small talk, since the performance would start momentarily._

_Such patron was the tall, greying and balding man that entered the box just five minutes before the play began. He had a face that was deeply lined and sharply angled like a stone boulder and eyebrows that resembled fat, sooty centipedes – or so Harriet observed and whispered to Alfred very covertly behind the man’s back. They had a giggle about that._

_Indeed, Alfred, having appropriated Edward’s claims that he was an unfeeling, cold-hearted person, smirked somewhat meanly and leaned back in his seat. This man was clearly in the position to say hello to the queen but judging by his attire, he must have been one of those lords who were running out of the family money. Get it over with, Alfred thought, and not much else, until the introductions were made._

_‘Her Majesty, Your Grace,’ the man said, bowing deeply. ‘Let me wish you a most pleasant evening.’_

_‘Ah, yes, the, uh,’ Prince Albert nodded, fishing for the correct name in his head._

_‘I am Jacob Warwick, the Earl of Lincoln, Your Grace.’_

_Alfred’s smile disappeared at once._

_Now that he looked, yes, that nose and the pointed chin…_

_‘Ah, yes, Lord Lincoln has invested in the railway, I believe,’ Albert explained to Victoria, who did not know the man face to face. ‘I hope your ventures have yielded many successes.’_

_The earl’s face twitched but he maintained his toady sneer._

_‘I have refocused my attentions on my parish, Your Grace. God is gracious to His loyal servants.’_

_‘Are you here alone, Lord Lincoln?’ Victoria asked by way of gracing him with the small talk he came for._

_‘With my wife, ma’am,’ the earl replied._

_‘No children?’ Lord Alfred heard himself ask. His tone remained civil but his intentions were savage. Indeed, he felt boneless in the presence of his man, his palms were sweating and his heartbeat sped up, and yet he was also vicious in a way there was no excuse for._ Was Edward right? _he wondered as the urge to throw this monster over the balustrade flared up in him._

_The man stuttered something about his son who could not make it, not knowing that Alfred knew that the son in question was long dead, at the pompous, harsh-featured, old earl’s own hands._

_He was still worked up about this brief but disturbing visit and incredibly aware of the presence of this villain in the next box by the time the curtains opened and the play began. Victoria did not care for Shakespeare’s darker plays, indeed she even found Hamlet difficult to understand, but Albert suggested_ As You Like It _. Surely, it would not contain anything too difficult to watch. Perhaps not, but Alfred had to excuse himself before the very first act was over. With his mind on the horrible and brutal end that his schoolmate Warwick met, the wrestling scene in the play brought up gruesome images even as everyone else in the hall laughed. His palms were sweating and his heartbeat sped up, and he had to get out of there immediately._

Edward stared aghast at Alfred after he had told him all this.

‘It is a little harder not to mind, you know. I know you think I didn’t care for him but you are wrong. He was just a boy, he had a promising future ahead of him but his own father—’

Alfred couldn’t even say it.

‘And then he has the nerve to be pious and saintly. Of course, acting only in the name of God! How comforting it must be for him.’

Edward took a good look into his own soul. He had been swayed and scared into doubting Alfred, who was truer than any priest or preacher. He wanted to fall at Alfred’s feet and beg for his forgiveness.

‘But one must get over these things. And I have,’ Alfred continued. ‘I have got over many things, many heartbreaks. I survived them all. However, when the _love of my life_ took me for a murderous devil…’

Alfred doubled over, clutching his chest. It just hurt too much.

‘How does one get over that!? Look at me, and tell me if I am likely to have killed, Edward.’

Edward closed the distance between them, engulfed Alfred in his arms and apologised profusely for the way he treated Alfred since the duchess died. Alfred clung to Edward’s shoulders and cried his eyes out.

‘I n-needed you tonight, Edward…’ he sobbed.

‘I am here, I’m sorry, my love, I am eternally sorry. I was a fool, I am so very sorry, my love.’

‘I a-am of c-c-course terribly sorry, and I wish it hadn’t happened this way,’ Alfred began to rattle on rapidly, to get it out, all of it. ‘The d-d-duchess could be quite a dame when she wasn’t p-plotting against us, and I wish I hadn’t dragged you into it and I am endlessly regretful about Wilhelmina as well and I do feel for her and I do send my prayers to the Heavens for the duchess—oh, God! Edward, I promise, it wasn’t as if I had stood there and watched her collapse and draw her last breath with glee, dancing over her motionless body–I tried to help her, I promise, I tried! But she–she was in my arms when we lost her.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Edward muttered aghast. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No _, I’m_ sorry, Edward, because, while this was an event I did not plan, it made me r-realise that I will… I _will_ kill anyone who hurts you,’ Alfred said, clutching Edward’s lapels for emphasis.

‘Not before I do,’ Edward replied and meant it.

He had really thought Alfred was cold-hearted about the duchess but he understood where he had come from. It was difficult not to take it to heart that Alfred kept silent about all these things but he supposed these were very painful memories and this was not the time to chide Alfred, nor would it be appropriate to make this about himself.

‘I’m sorry, Alfred, my love, I am sorry, I am so sorry,’ Edward breathed against Alfred’s skin and they were kissing as passionately as ever. ‘I believe you, I take back everything I said.’

‘No, don’t because tonight,’ Alfred breathes shakily against Edward’s lips, until his voice gained strength, ‘I understood what you meant: tonight, I felt such vengeance, Edward. I did want Earl Warwick to die. I _wanted_ it, I want him to pay for his brutality and I wish he languished in a cell, like that madman who shot you, I wish they’d hanged him so that he never has the chance to hurt you,’ Alfred’s breath hitched, spooked by his own words. ‘Am I going to Hell for this?’

‘Angels don’t go to Hell,’ Edward said and kissed Alfred warmly.

He held Alfred for as long as it took for his tears to dry, and kissed him in due course, so as to take his mind off all the pain. Alfred melted into his kisses indeed, drinking him in, needing him.

‘Do you still love me?’ he asked timidly and Edward swayed from the mere suggestion that he didn’t love Alfred with all his heart.

‘Do I love you? Alfred. Do you remember when you said, we do… to express feelings beyond words… when words fail you, fail me…’

He pushed Alfred against the window and kissed him hotly, forgetting about anyone who might spot them from the street – it was dark in the room and the entrance hid this window anyway.

All that worry about being in the wrong, and all those weeks of longing for Alfred burst out of him with vengeance—damn anyone who said it was wrong, he knew by instinct that their love was a force for good and Alfred’s devotion sparked in him a fire and he needed to feel him, kiss him, have him.

Clothes landed on the carpet and Alfred’s back hit the glass as Edward pushed against him with yet more strength – he wasn’t in pain but its roughness unlocked something ineffable and instinctual in Alfred, too. He had missed Edward beyond words, Edward, who could ask for anything he would gladly give it, his heart alit and his body on fire from head to toe.

Afterwards, Edward lay awake for hours in bed, watching Alfred sleep.

A year before, he had barely even admitted to himself that his feelings for Lord Alfred Paget were of a romantic sort, let alone imagined himself acting on them. Yet, on this night, he barely wanted to move as every bit of his body felt boneless and sore in the best of ways after Alfred’s left his marks and he on Alfred.

How innocent and angelic Alfred looked in his slumber. It occurred to Edward that Alfred must have been exhausted beyond words, not just from the unfortunate encounter at the theatre but from his own travels and the ordeal of the whole winter. Edward remembered just how draining it was for his own soul to be engaged to someone under false pretences and realised Alfred had got a taste of that. And after all the times he had been hurt, by lovers and haters alike… He had every reason to be glad the duchess was dead.

And yet he wasn’t, in spite of her threats. Alfred, unfeeling? Nothing could be further from the truth. Edward did not know a lot about others but he had a feeling that such strong love that compelled people to be prepared to protect their love at all costs was not often found.

He had spent the morning praying but he could not lie to himself, he was also, if not glad, relieved that they were free of the threat of blackmail at least. If this was wicked, if Alfred was wicked, then Edward was made wicked by association, through his devotion to Alfred and he would choose this any day. He could not imagine himself abandoning Alfred because of his faith or this incident. Perhaps these things ought not to be voiced out loud. However, his talented, brilliant, beautiful, fierce, and devoted Alfred did not have a bad bone in his body as far as he was concerned.

Alfred’s eyelashes fluttered under Edward’s breath and he opened his eyes. He looked so earnestly and warmly at Edward. There was nothing devilish in his smile.

When Edward returned it, Alfred put his hand over Edward’s heart and went back to sleep.

Edward was with Alfred completely at last. He did not only believe him but he believed _in_ him. And he vowed never to be anything less than ruthless against anything or anyone that dared to threaten or hurt the man he loved.


	25. Fire and Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fire and Water - Or, the Case of an Unfortunate Wallpaper
> 
> Some pillow talk, soul-searching and bravery, a big splash, and new flatmates are in store for us. Poor Wood.

Wood nearly bumped right into Wilson in the hallway outside Alfred’s suite.

‘Had the same idea, huh?’ Wilson said, gesturing at the stack of neatly folded garments in the other valet’s hands. He was also carrying a jug of warm water. ‘Rock-paper-scissors for the privilege of getting shouted at by the gents?’

Indeed, even at this far end of the corridor, they could hear muffled groans from the bedroom suite. Two out of three, Wilson lost, therefore he was the one who approached the door and gingerly made his way in, balancing the heavy jug and Lord Alfred’s clothes.

He reappeared within two seconds, with wide eyes like he’d seen a ghost.

‘What?’ Wood asked. ‘Are they really arguing that badly again?’

‘No,’ Wilson said when he found his voice. ‘They’re, uh… not arguing.’

And with a wink, he left the other valet in the hallway. Wood pressed his ears against the door and went red. Valeting could wait.

Certainly, the gentlemen preferred to spend the morning unclothed.

Alfred flopped on the soft bedsheets, boneless, sweaty, and unable to wipe the grin off his face. Edward smiled, too, as he lay beside him, just as flushed and happy.

‘You look smug there, Edward,’ Alfred panted between giggles.

‘Why, shouldn’t I? I am more than smug. I am _proud_ of my work.’

‘Well, you’ve worked me enough not to be able to stand on my feet today!’ Alfred said in one big, satisfied sigh and both they laughed. ‘I do appreciate this way of _communication_. Last night was to say…’

‘A million things,’ Edward said earnestly in love.

‘So this morning says…?’

‘…That your body is irresistible and rather arousing,’ Edward said with cheek.

Alfred giggled. ‘Only rather?’

‘ _Extremely_ arousing. Better?’

‘Better, better,’ Alfred still panted. ‘I will not pester you. Words do fail me now.’

Alfred noticed that Edward grew a bit quiet.

‘Would you like to go back to sleep? It’s your day off, is it not?’ Alfred asked gently, caressing Edward’s glistening skin soothingly. ‘Or a coffee? Or continue… _talking_ …?’

Alfred’s hand slid southwards and Edward got ticklish and cheered up. But he stopped Alfred and looked at him seriously.

‘I was a fool. Forgive me, my love.’

‘We’ve said our apologies. It is in the past.’

‘But I wanted to tell you also why I behaved in such a way.’

‘It is quite understandable. Your faith is important to you. A man of principles, you have always been so, and I admire that – I did not nudge you into anything for years, happy to pine. I claim not to share your feelings but I get it.’

‘It’s not really that. I mean, yes, but it was more than that.’

Edward inhaled and exhaled deeply, to cool himself and remember where to begin.

‘Prince Albert called that lake in France natural, clean of artifice, even pure. It was indeed a little Eden. For me, however, it was not innocent at all…’

Alfred blushed – the memory lived in him very vividly, even though they were quite as naked in this bed as in that French lake.

‘After that, what greeted me in London was endless disasters to do with the Irish, and Florence’s insistence on the marriage. It was as if I had to pay for my sins. Such as earlier, when I dared to want to talk to you, and the next day’s harsh reality meant that I had to tell you I was engaged. Such as later, when I kissed you in Scotland and Her Majesty was lost all night. Such as when we first… and the very next day, I was shot and nearly…’

Edward put his hand over his scar absent-mindedly.

‘The duchess twisting your hand and an entire winter without you – of course it would happen so, because I was beginning to feel happy. More than that, I was beginning to feel safe. That was my sin.’

‘These things, they were not your fault, Edward. It is coincidence, not providence.’

‘I know. But it felt that way, nevertheless. We buried her, and it was, I am ashamed to say, such a relief that just those sentiments have been bearing down upon not only my conscience but my superstition if you will. It is as if I mustn’t allow myself to feel too happy, otherwise, my punishment shall come.’

‘No, Edward, surely not.’

‘It is likely to be my imagination. I am a man of reason, always have been. However, over the winter, Sir Robert began to bemoan men like us more and more, and my church’s messages were unusually frequent on the matter, and I have seen men in the pillory more than once this past couple of months, and it seemed as if everything was telling me: serves you right, for your sins, for being happy for a while. Retribution, if you will. So, since I could not write to you, and I did not want to worry Charlotte and Cecilia, who both depend on me for security… I wrote to Michael.’

Alfred pushed himself up on his elbow, listening to Edward intently.

‘I did not put anything into writing that would be too obvious, fear not. Burning our own letters was torturous enough! Alas, this meant that I could scarcely gather proper advice from him either. He was ever so kind and understanding to the best of his abilities, having only my vague lines to go on. He sensed there was more to it and that I was wrestling with something. Only, he assumed that I was battling my own demons, now I see, and therefore, he advised me to keep my distance from all that tempted me for as long as it took to “hear God”, for he would always guide me to do what is right, even if it is not what I desire.’

‘Then, we are back to where we were. I am tempting you to sin, is that what you are trying to tell me?’ Alfred asked, not liking this, but refused to feel ashamed.

‘No. I thought that would be it, too, at first, but no, Alfred,’ Edward was quick to say. ‘What I desired above all was safety.’

‘Desired, past tense?’

‘Perhaps. Yes. I still desire it, but I have made my peace with the fact that it is just not going to happen, not in our lifetime.’

‘So… that means…?’

‘My choice is not between God and loving you. Michael said so, too: he reminded me God made us all in his image, and therefore I cannot be a mistake, nor can my love for you. No. My choice is between cowering away from all that is difficult to face for the semblance of safety _and_ confronting that which needs to be confronted as is my responsibility.’

‘Did I need to be confronted?’

‘Well, yes.’

Alfred furrowed his eyebrows.

‘Would you rather that I had lied to you and pretended I wasn’t scared or conflicted? And you did appear to be unfeeling before, you cannot deny it.’

Alfred thought about it. Maybe it was the extremely gratifying night (and morning) with Edward but he certainly did not want to argue anymore.

‘No, you are right. And yes, I would prefer that you tell me the truth always, even if it is an ugly one about myself.’

‘Never ugly. Just…’

‘Don’t let’s start again,’ Alfred said, smiling a little naughtily.

‘Goodness, no, I do not want any more shoes thrown at me, thank you.’

Alfred apologised profusely even as they were laughing it off. He cuddled close to Edward.

‘So… confronting things, is that your new _raison d’etre_?’

‘If I want to be a better man and not idly waste my life, yes. I believe I am made the way I am for a reason. You’ll say that is dramatic…’

‘No, it is very valiant, Edward. Did…’ Alfred pointed to Edward’s scar, ‘… _that_ event prompt this?’

‘It did. And all these other things. And a wise and incredibly attractive man once said to me that I am going to make a difference in the world. I mean to make him proud.’

Alfred smiled bashfully. ‘Just as long as you exercise reasonable caution…’

‘When have I lost my head?’

Alfred chuckled.

‘What?’ Edward asked.

Alfred caressed Edward’s skin in circles around the scar.

‘I forget how brave you are, you silly man,’ Alfred said quietly, listening to Edward’s heartbeats. ‘Some would say reckless, but… I haven’t vowed to tell you the truth…’

Edward snorted. ‘I see how it is!’

‘Would you rather I’d always told you the truth?’

‘I’ll regret this but yes, I would.’

‘Very well, you’ve got yourself a deal, Mr Drummond. I shall start with this: I love you.’

‘I love you, too.’

*

Later that morning, Edward woke up to a whole jug of cold water splashing in his face. Alfred got a fair share of it and immediately reached for his sword, making swishy movements in the air when he didn’t find it.

‘WHa-HUH—WHO—!?’ Edward spluttered.

Charlotte’s face swam into Edward’s view and he yanked the covers up to his neck. Alfred didn’t have the same concern. Those who pry should accept what they find was his motto. She couldn’t care less at the moment. She seemed troubled and her face was covered in soot for some reason.

‘Wake up, there’s been a fire.’

‘A f-f-fire?!’ Edward repeated her chilling words. ‘W-where?’

‘Where do you think?!’ she asked indignantly, gesturing at her sooty state and singed hair.

‘You don’t mean… the house is burnt down?’

‘Is Cecilia alright?’ Alfred asked.

‘She is, we both are, just a bit shaken. And the house is intact, just a bit singed, as am I. Something went wrong with the cooker and we spent the whole morning fighting the fire in the kitchen and airing the building afterwards. A bit of it spread to the foyer—thank Heavens the stairs are made of stone downstairs, not wood! But it’s the smoke that did a lot of damage, regretfully. The rooms are fine but everything is all sooty and grey in the stairwell, up to the top floor. We have a lot of repair work to do. Not to mention the paintings!’

‘Damn the paintings, I’m just glad you’re alright!’ Edward said and moved to hug his sister.

She stepped away. ‘Not while you’re undressed. And Alfred, I know I’m not that kind of a lady but please, put your… _self_ away at last.’

Alfred shrugged at Edward and got up to wash, giving her a view of his backside instead. She left to wait with Cecilia downstairs and to avoid the sight of the gentlemen.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Wood said to Edward while pouring everyone coffee in the sitting room. ‘I couldn’t stop Miss Drummond from going upstairs.’

‘No matter, Wood,’ Edward said despite his embarrassment. ‘She is only my sister and there is no stopping her.’

‘Don’t I know it!’ Cecilia said proudly, though shaken from the events. ‘She was fiercer than the fire, she really was!’

‘I just splashed a bit of water on it…’ Charlotte said to downplay it, not wanting to be praised and put on the spot.

‘She’s good at splashing water indeed,’ Edward remarked, rather vexed.

‘ _Anyway_ ,’ Charlotte tried to defer, refraining from throwing a cushion at Edward across the coffee table, ‘We’ve a mountain of work ahead of us, we really didn’t come for breakfast, only to tell you the news…’

‘Oh, but you must stay here!’ Alfred suggested.

‘Here?’

‘Well, of course!’ Alfred insisted, not taking no for an answer indeed. ‘Nonsense, I will not hear any objections! You must absolutely move in here, at least for the time of repairs and renovations. It is not as though we lack space! Edward tells me you paint. There is a lovely, unfurnished, south-facing room upstairs that could be turned into a studio for you. What could be more perfect?’

‘I agree, it cannot be healthy or very comfortable in the house at the moment, Charlotte,’ Edward seconded. ‘I shall come back with you later to inspect it and help you pack whatever you need.’

Charlotte looked at Cecilia, who really could use a restful place while the house is cleaned up. Besides, she was giving her the puppy eyes and she simply could not refuse her.

‘I suppose so,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘Thank you.’

‘Shall I find a room for Cecilia in the attic, Miss Drummond?’ Wood asked politely.

The table froze. Slowly, they realised the valet still had no idea Cecilia was not a housemaid.

‘Wood, um, we ought to tell you—’ Edward began but Cecilia interrupted.

‘Yes, that would be splendid,’ she said, ‘Um, Mr Wood,’ she added, trying to sound too obviously upper class. ‘Just, uh, cracking.’

‘ _Lord Alfred_ can find her a room,’ Charlotte declared, remembering that the valet had fancied Cecilia once. ‘ _Alfred_?’

Alfred nearly jumped and stood at attention at her command. ‘Of course. Cecilia?’

He took her upstairs, though not into the attics. They found a modest single bedroom adjoined to a double bedroom that could be Charlotte’s.

‘We’ll say something like you double as her ladies’ maid and need to be at hand at all times. Though… I regret this wallpaper. Perhaps there’s a better room down the hall—’

‘It’s perfect,’ Cecilia rejoiced and jumped into Alfred’s arms and kissed him on the cheek like a little sister. Well, one rather less sassy than Adelaide.

He laughed, though he was taken aback. ‘I take it you do like the wallpaper?’

‘Forgive me, Alfred,’ she said, letting go of him. ‘Oh, I am just so shaken! I thought everything was going to be lost to the fire. I’ve had nightmares, nearly every night, thinking that my step-father might come and take me away from Charlotte and make me marry some man and I just find it hard to stay hiding indoors, after I was locked in a room, I just long to be outdoors or somewhere spacious or really just somewhere else—goodness me! Stop me, I am rambling on and on and on—’

‘No, by all means, tell me, please do,’ Alfred comforted her with a soft pat on the arm. ‘It is perfectly understandable. Is that why you prefer to keep incognito?’

‘Indeed it is.’

‘Even if young Wood was soft on you?’

‘Even so…’ Cecilia said, though not without rolling her eyes.

‘Well, you’ll be glad to hear he has rather refocused his attentions on someone else.’

‘Who?’

‘My valet!’

She looked up at him quizzically and he nodded. She burst out laughing. It wasn’t the soppy valet falling for the nearest person so much as the relief that all was not lost, after all.

He laughed with her softly. ‘Though I believe his feelings are thus far woefully unrequited. Just now while I dressed, Wilson asked me for a night off so he could take a girl out to a _thé dansant_.’

‘Poor Mr Wood!’

‘Alas, indeed, poor Wood.’

‘Oh, I missed you, Alfred. Charlotte has my heart but one cannot survive without friends and conversation!’

‘London born and raised, are you?’

‘I certainly am!’

He chuckled at her indignant tone.

‘And you are right, this wallpaper is hideous! Look, those flowers are in the shape of a… well… do you think we should inform the factory? That’ll be an interesting letter, I say! But then perhaps it is on purpose!’

He cracked up again, realising he missed her friendship, too, especially after all that time in Wales. Not that Miss Coke wasn’t a good conversationalist but Cecilia was a bit more worldly. Or very much more so. This suited Alfred indeed, and he found he rather looked forward to housing her and Charlotte even temporarily.

They went back downstairs, down a lot of carpeted, marble steps in this big house, which Cecilia marvelled at, regretting she’d often have to use the servants’ staircase. Edward and Charlotte were already in their coats, waiting for them impatiently, and off they set, on the mission to move the ladies’ belongings from Mayfair to Grosvenor Place.


	26. A Short Cut and a Long Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred morning is disturbed, Cecilia needs to polish her performance as a lady's maid, Wood's frustrations push him over the edge, and Edward has a trying day at work and beyond that might just bring the next disaster on all their heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any historians reading: Sir Robert's portrayal is only as well-researched as good Wikipedia is as a source, don't @ me. I tried.

‘Just do it, Cecilia.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I am quite sure.’

‘But perhaps a professional person…’

‘Just do it, chop it off!’

‘ _All_ of it?’

‘All of it, yes.’

Alfred opened the Times at breakfast and raised a cup of tea to his lips. Edward had gone to work so he was enjoying breakfast in the orangery alone. Birds were chirping cheerfully, the first flower buds were appearing on lively green trees and bushes, and the sky was as blue as one could ask for…

SCREAMING.

Loud, high-pitched screaming sounded from upstairs, and he spilled his tea all over his newspaper.

Up he ran, alarmed and ready for all occasions and dangers. But when he arrived at Charlotte’s room, he relaxed and stared aghast at the scene.

Charlotte was checking herself in her hand mirror with huge eyes and a gaping mouth. She was sat in a chair with a towel around her shoulders, while Cecilia was standing behind her, holding a bunch of brown, curly hair tied with a ribbon, screaming. Just as she stopped screaming, she noticed Alfred standing in the doorway and shrieked once more again out of fright, dropping the pair of scissors with which she had made the chop.

Charlotte’s hair was shorter than her shoulders.

‘Have you no concern for my poor heart?!’ Alfred asked, walking in slowly, clutching his heart over his clothes. ‘I thought you were being attacked! _What on Earth_ have you done with your hair? Ooh, Edward will kill you.’

‘It is not for him to police the length of my hair, Alfred!’ Charlotte retorted, looking at her hair this way and that. ‘Besides, there was nothing else to do, it was all singed most awkwardly. Besides, this should be more practical, should it not?’

‘I suppose so,’ Alfred said unsurely, gaping at the length of hair. It was about a foot long. ‘Are you sure all this had to go?’

‘That’s what I asked her, too,’ Cecilia said, still shocked at her own work.

Charlotte’s mischievous eyes met Alfred’s through the mirror. Alfred had no more questions: clearly, this was premeditated by her, the fire was just an excuse.

‘We could make a beard out of it for you, Alfred!’ Cecilia giggled, holding up the severed ponytail to his face, which he swatted away, ticklish.

‘I hope you’ll enjoy Hell, ladies,’ Alfred said and made his way out.

‘We’ll visit your pit!’ Charlotte shouted after him.

Cecilia handed her her hair and observed her new look from the front.

‘Funny thing is… I rather like it.’

‘Do you?’ Charlotte flirted and gave her new locks a sultry shake. ‘Not too masculine?’

‘It is somewhat evocative of _The Three Musketeers_. Shall I fashion you a moustache out of the chopped bits?’

‘Perhaps we can forgo that but I’d grab a sword and defend my lady’s honour at the drop of a hat.’

‘My hero!’

Charlotte’s reward was a warm kiss.

They fled apart as Wilson arrived a little too late for the screaming but just as alarmed as Alfred had been and he was holding a cast-iron pan for good measure. After reassuring him there was no danger, nor any rats or mice, Cecilia curtseyed to Charlotte and joined Wilson in going all the way back downstairs to the kitchen.

‘You seem cosy with Miss Drummond, I say!’ Wilson quipped as he held the servants’ door open for her. She shot him a dark look so he added as they began their way down the tight spiral steps: ‘I mean to say Lord Alfred would never let me cut his hair! Wood does it for Mr Drummond but I don’t for his lordship.’

‘Perhaps you are clumsier than I am.’

‘You’ve broken two water jugs since living here and it’s not been a week. Who’s clumsy, again?’

She tutted.

‘You sure you are a housemaid, Celia?’

‘I AM a housemaid. I mean a lady’s maid. Both,’ she mentally kicked herself. She wasn’t used to other people in the house – she had to get better at acting. ‘And do not call me Celia, my step-father used to call me that and I did not appreciate it.’

‘Just trying to be friendly. Sorry.’

‘Friendly? Hm… Where’s poor Wood?’ she asked instead of retorting as they reached the downstairs area.

‘Why poor?’

‘I was just being silly…’ Cecilia acted, better this time.

‘Hm. Not seen him today.’

‘Crying his eyes out, is he? Such is a broken heart…’

‘Ha! How’dyou know about that?’

‘Do _you_ know about it?!’ she asked at that. This was news to her, and had she known earlier, she would have pranked the lads.

‘Well, of course, I know,’ Wilson replied with a shrug. ‘I think he might have mentioned it. It’s easy to see.’

‘That’s interesting. I’m sure he doesn’t know you know.’

‘What does it matter? What matters is you know.’

‘Why should it matter that I know?’

‘Well, it’s you he is soft on. I’m just a valet around here that he can get cross at for not using a coaster.’

Cecilia stopped in his tracks. ‘Oh. Ohhh!’ she giggled to herself. ‘Um, right, so, uh, that was a long time ago, Mr Wilson. A little bird told me there is someone else on whom Mr Wood has got his eye.’

‘Oh, yeah, who’s that?’ Wilson asked, confused that he was slow on the update but then he’d been away in bloody Wales for months until very recently.

Cecilia just smirked to herself.

‘Why don’t you ask Wood to show you a trick or two about cutting hair? I hear you have a _rendezvous_ tonight. Perhaps you could benefit from a trim yourself.’

And with that, she disappeared into the sewing room, leaving Wilson utterly baffled and now worried about his looks. He would spend the day checking himself in every reflecting surface.

*

Edward delivered the third note of its kind that day to Sir Robert. He was quite vexed to be interrupted in his research of pro-repeal arguments of the Navigation Acts.

‘Enter.’

‘It’s only me again, Sir Robert,’ Edward stepped in, bowed politely, hugging his trusty dossier to himself as always, and went over to his mentor’s desk. ‘This was just delivered by a Whip.’

‘Whig?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Sir Robert sighed and leaned back in his chair. He took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose.

‘Another love letter?’ he asked exasperatedly.

‘So it seems,’ Edward replied, placing the note on the desk. He meant to leave but his curiosity got the better of him. ‘Are you not even a little bit tempted to go over to the other side, sir?’

Sir Robert tutted and chuckled. ‘The sun will sooner rise in the west, Drummond.’

‘A man of principles, as always.’

‘I should hope so.’

‘It is admirable. Though… it is not a failing for a man to re-examine one’s views and change one’s mind if that be for the benefit of reason.’

‘And you, you are a man of _reason_ , as always.’

‘I should hope so, sir,’ Edward replied wittily again.

Sir Robert smiled tiredly.

‘That is as well as it may, Drummond, but I do not take it lightly. There are some things on which a man, if he is to be taken seriously, is not supposed to be flimsy or change his mind.’

‘Not even if it causes harm?’

Sir Robert stopped smiling.

‘I stand on firm, clear, conservative principles. After serving two terms as the Prime Minister and leader of my party, how could I switch merely to benefit my status and increase my influence? I would regard it as grave a sin as divorce – indeed, a divorce from my principles. It is unthinkable.’

‘Is that not stubborn, sir? If we are in possession of evidence with which we can change the future for the better, why stick with something purely because it has been agreed upon whilst still in ignorance?’

‘Do not tell me you have become a progressive.’

‘Not so, sir. But, and perhaps it is my research on our trade history with the colonies speaking from me, surely, if one changed his mind on, say, the abolition of slavery, we must allow for them to see reason rather than encourage them to keep to principles that are harmful.’

‘Why this insistence, Drummond? Party lines, trade, slavery – what else do you wish I changed my mind on?’

‘I do not wish to, sir, with respect.’

‘I do forget how young you are, Drummond.’

‘I am not a child, sir.’

‘Not a man, either, else you would have got married. I say, I still have not come to understand how that broken engagement came to be – no, don’t try to explain yourself, Drummond, I am tired and there is little you could say to convince me. I tolerate it ever happening because I respect you and regard you highly but let us not quarrel over that. I’d rather forget it ever happened, but only because I owe you my life.’

Drummond swallowed a lot of his pride to speak calmly after that.

‘Florence is extremely happy. That is well worth your trusting my principles a little less than before, Sir Robert. As regards the Whigs: what should I tell them? I cannot keep acting as page boy whenever they concoct a new incentive to lure you into their ranks, sir.’

‘I shall speak with Palmerston in person. Surely this is his work, to distract me from mine.’

‘What makes you think it’s him?’

Sir Robert shot Edward a rather patronising glare. ‘His morals have always been questionable.’

‘I did not think you listened to gossip, sir.’

‘I do not!’ Sir Robert snapped, not in the mood for any more of this. ‘By Jove, Drummond… I do not care for your personal choices, nor those of Palmerston except to be informed of a man’s character and that, indeed, is of utmost importance if one means to influence the masses. There is such a thing as responsibility and reputation and Lord Palmerston fails at both.’

‘He seems very popular with the masses, sir.’

‘A populist! I never gained votes by boxing with brigands in the park as he does! After all my hard work, that man shall lead this country into revolution and war, mark my words. Such an outrageous man ought never to be allowed to hold public office.’

Edward gulped and tried to de-escalate an upcoming tantrum of his mentor’s.

‘Indeed, sir, Her Majesty has not taken to Lord Palmerston, and that’s putting it mildly, or so Lord Alfred tells me.’

‘Do not even get me started on the Pagets. I do hope it is not the rotten influence of their _sort_ that inspired you to abandon your fiancée, or God forbid respect for the institution of marriage altogether?’

‘Should we not focus on the Navigation—Actually, sir, no, I cannot leave this be: Lord Alfred is my very best friend, despite our differing politics, and just as I saved your life, his father, Lord Anglesey, saved mine with his quick and efficient medical intervention that ghastly night. I owe him my life and I cannot stand here without defending his honour. Besides, as you so often like to quote the Bible, I daresay “he that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone.” How is that for principles, sir?’

Sir Robert was aghast and rose from his seat.

‘You are welcome to take the day off, Drummond,’ he said coldly.

Edward’s eyes went dull. ‘I cannot, the debate is upon us and I have yet to complete my research on the Navigation Acts for tomorrow’s speech. It goes back centuries, I might not go home at all tonight.’

‘Leave the notes on your desk, I shall find them. Go home. Sleep. And when you return to the office in the morning, I expect you to have recovered your manners, young man.’

Edward, feeling like he had already pushed enough buttons that day, bowed extremely briefly, and left Sir Robert’s office as told, or rather ordered.

Since he had plenty of time to kill before dinnertime, and he could not go to the Palace without a reason (wanting to kiss Alfred senselessly somehow did not promise to go down well with the guards or the court in his imagination), he made his way to the house in Mayfair.

He and Charlotte had moved most of their things to Grosvenor Place in the past couple of days but it wasn’t as if the house was a ruin. There was a big patch of black and grey soot on the tall white walls of the hallway and the kitchen had to be rebuilt but the rest of it was unharmed.

Edward, wishing he had a pen and paper to jot down his thoughts so as to get rid of the frustrations of his day, remembered that Charlotte had placed his diary in her safe. He made his way upstairs and looked for it, without any hopes of knowing how to open it, but he had hardly anything else to do.

However, his day went from bad to worse, when he found the little metal box that normally hid behind the painting above Charlotte’s bed. It was in its place alright, but its hinge was hanging askew. He had to give it but a light tug and it swung open, revealing emptiness.

*

Wilson was sitting in the kitchen, checking the clock every five minutes and tutting. At last, at half eight, the servants’ entrance opened and closed and Wood appeared.

‘Finally! Nice of you to show! Where the bloody hell have you been!?’ Wilson jumped at him at once.

‘It was my day off,’ Wood replied indignantly, hanging up his coat in the dark hallway.

‘HALF day.’

‘What’s it to you?!’

‘It’s my _night off_ and I was hoping to ask your help to trim my hair!’

‘Your hair is fine.’

‘Never mind that. I can’t leave as long as you don’t come back! You’ve made me late from meeting Madge! She’ll be wondering where I am!’

‘Bloody hell, Wilson, I’m sure the gentlemen would not mind. They can undress themselves – or each other for that matter – just fine without us.’

‘Easy for you to say! I have no tricks up my sleeve unlike you, the big captain and Mr Drummond’s hero! I’ve got to actually try and keep my job, thank you very much.’

‘Well, I am back now as you can see! Why are you still standing here insulting me?’ he countered testily. ‘Go, then.’

‘You’re right, I’m off,’ Wilson said, making sure to bump against Wood’s shoulder as he went to grab his coat and get the door.

‘Yes, go, piss off to that bloody _dansant_ or whatever,’ Wood spat after him. ‘Dance with that girl, dance with every girl in town, or whatever you do with them!’

Wilson turned on his heels, fazed at the uncharacteristic crudeness. He had his mind on the girl waiting for him and whether she was the proper or the improper kind – and he hoped the latter, for he was in the mood to let go for one night. Alas, he could not leave without sticking up for himself.

‘You know what, Wood, you’d stop being such a grumpy, old fella if you let loose once in a while.’

‘Don’t you point your ruddy coat at me. What do you mean “let loose”?’

‘Let your hair down, have fun, for once in your life! You never dance, you just watch from the side. You never cross the rules, you never put your feet up.’

‘I do…’

‘Yeah, you, the rebel who occasionally steals a book from the library _without_ asking for permission and, to all our shock, even dares sit in the cushioned armchairs upstairs. What an outlaw! I don’t care, it’s your life, if you want to be an old man at twenty-one, so be it. A good-looking chap like you wasting his looks and youth - fine. But just because you don’t like to have fun, you’ve not got to stamp on others’ rare moments of catching a bloody break from endless servitude, from waking up early and going to bed late because his lordship wants this and that and I’ve got to jump as others please and have no life of my own. All I want is a night off!’

‘Oh, please, don’t act like his lordship doesn’t let you make your own… _fun_.’

‘Look at you, even the word is strange in your mouth! Blimey, you’re a bore, you really are made of wood, Wood. Don’t you ever…’

‘What?’ Wood stepped closer, eager to stand up for himself as well, heart racing for it, or because of the sheer proximity.

‘Don’t you ever feel anything? Don’t you want more from life than mending shirts and ironing newspapers? How can you live like this? _Feel something_ , man,’ Wilson reproached frustrated, shaking Wood by the shoulders.

Wood swatted Wilson’s hands away in one swift and firm move. Something flared up in him that hurt to the core and brought hotness in his cheeks.

‘That’s what you think of me? That I don’t feel or want or…’

Wood stared up at Wilson so intensely so he sensed he’d crossed a line and feared he would be punched in the face, right before his _rendezvous_.

‘Look, chap,’ Wilson said more apologetically, ‘I know you are keen on someone and it’s not coming off but it’s no reason to—’ he said but he was silenced by Wood…

…Wood’s kiss.

*

Cecilia, Charlotte, and Alfred were lounging in the sitting room and playing cards and charades when they heard the front door open and close.

‘Wood? Anyone?’ Edward’s voice could be called faintly but Edward was left to hang up his coat and hat on his own before making his way into the sitting room.

‘There he is, you are about to die,’ Alfred told Charlotte, still convinced Edward would go up the wall any minute after having seen just how his sister butchered her hair.

Edward walked in.

‘Hello, everyone, hello, good evening ladies, Alfred, how are we?’ Edward said in passing, kissing Alfred on the lips briefly on his way to the liquor cabinet.

‘Told you,’ Charlotte shrugged at Alfred and shuffled a deck of cards.

‘Edward,’ Alfred sidled up to him. ‘Don’t you notice anything… different?’

Edward, having poured himself a generous glass of whisky, turned around and tried very hard to figure it out.

‘Um… new cravat?’ he guessed, hoping he got it right.

Alfred sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Not on me. Your dear sister. Can you not see… anything? _Anything?_ ’

Edward looked at her like she was a most troubling riddle.

‘New dress?’

Charlotte rolled her eyes. Cecilia chuckled.

‘I, uh... I’m sorry, I’m trying…’ Edward said apologetically.

‘Told. Youuu. Soooo,’ Charlotte sang, giving Alfred a smug look.

‘Edward!’ Alfred scolded him now.

‘I’m sorry, Alfred, what should I—OH! CHARLOTTE, YOUR HAIR! Where has it GONE?!’

‘THANK YOU!’ Alfred exclaimed and flopped into an armchair, shaking his head indignantly at just how silly his Edward could be.

‘What has happened!? Oh, no! Don’t be sad about it, I’m sure Alfred’s lady friends at court know superb wig makers in the city.’

Charlotte rolled her eyes massively. ‘God, Edward, it was on purpose, alright? Now, get over it and pour me a dram of scotch too, will you?’

‘But… but… but…’

‘I am rather fond of it!’ Cecilia declared and kissed Charlotte so hotly that the gents had to turn away for propriety’s sake.

‘Well, the ladies have spoken, Edward,’ Alfred chuckled and went to pour everyone more whisky.

Edward knocked back two more before the others could finish one.

‘Are you really that outraged at my hair?’ Charlotte asked.

‘I just had a long day,’ Edward replied elusively, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed.

‘Would you like to talk about it?’ Alfred asked him, massaging his shoulders from behind.

‘Hardly.’

Indeed, Edward had never even told Alfred that he had recorded a lot, if not all, of his life, including a lot of it spent with Alfred and his feelings for and about Alfred and everything to do with Alfred, Alfred, Alfred, all handwritten in a diary. He could not tell him about this, especially now that it was lost.

Cecilia stood up. ‘I think we should have ourselves a ball. It would cheer you right up.’

Charlotte laughed. ‘That is quite impossible, my dearest. For your sake. And I believe Alfred keeps the ballroom well out of use, which is a damn shame for it is rather splendid.’

Alfred shot her an apologetic look.

‘I wasn’t thinking about inviting people and making a fuss,’ Cecilia explained. ‘A ball is a ball when we say it’s a ball! A bit of dancing and all that. Why can’t we have one of our own?’

‘Now?!’ Alfred asked, cracking up at Cecilia again. Where did she get her energy?

‘Right now!’

‘What about the music?’

‘Well, I don’t know! We’ll sing!’

‘Sing and dance at the same time?’ Charlotte asked sceptically. ‘I think not, not me!’

‘Well, then we shall imagine it.’

‘I do not feel much like dancing,’ Edward muttered exhaustedly.

‘Which is precisely why I must insist you get up and do so!’ Cecilia skipped over to him and dragged him out of the chair, or tried to, as she was defeated by his weight, both that of his actual body and that of his burdens from his troubling day. ‘Come on! It’s not fair, I haven’t been to a dance in aeons. I shall forget how to dance altogether!’

‘Have you ever really known, my beloved?’ Charlotte teased.

Cecilia was indignant but such was her power that after a bit more convincing, they four ventured into the big, echoing ballroom that was fit for a hundred and stood in place for some country dances that were possible even without more dancers. Cecilia counted the rhythm like a dancing master but she would get too caught up in the fun of it so they all collided and blamed her for it, especially Edward. He was duly punished by being forced to sing for them, then, if he was so clever! He hummed a tune he remembered well from dances, to humour her and stop Alfred from getting wind of anything serious weighing down on him. It was rather obvious his heart wasn’t in it and Cecilia still collided and stepped on Alfred’s foot so frequently that he had to put an end to this, not just for Edward’s but all their sakes.

Edward excused himself to go to the library before bed. Alfred sneakily followed him.

‘Are you looking for something, my love?’

Edward felt like he was found out but it was so late and Alfred was so flushed and beautiful from dancing. He couldn’t bring down his spirits now.

‘Just thought I left something here, that’s all,’ he said trying to sound nonchalant.

‘Why don’t you come up to bed? You look so very tired.’

‘In a minute.’

Alfred stepped closer, observing Edward.

‘Did something bad happen today?’

Edward bit his lip. ‘Just work being… work.’

‘Right.’

‘Honestly, Alfred.’

‘Alright.’

Edward felt Alfred seeing right through him so he dropped his files and walked around the desk to sweep him off his feet with a sensuous kiss.

‘Let’s go to bed,’ he whispered hotly to Alfred and there were no more objections or prying from his lover’s part.


	27. The Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the bloody hell is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My research into which party campaigned for what on the Navigation Acts remains minimal. You're not here to learn about that. I'm not here to write about that. Even Drummond isn't all that bothered this chapter.

Alfred opened his eyes to the sight of Edward already dressed and adjusting his pocket watch in the mirror while his valet brushed the shoulders of his coat.

‘Are you up already?’ he asked, sitting up drowsily.

‘It’s nearly eight, Alfred.’

‘Precisely, just eight!’ Alfred teased but Edward was obviously preoccupied. ‘Not still carrying yesterday’s gloom? _What_ happened at the House?’

‘Nothing to burden you with.’

‘”Burden?” So something bad _has_ happened. Edward, we promised we would tell one another the truth always.’

‘Thank you, Wood,’ Edward told his valet and that was his cue to leave the gentlemen alone.

Wood didn’t move, though.

‘Wood? Wood!?’

The valet jumped out of his daydreams, apologised, and scurried out of the room.

Alfred wondered what that was about but he put that away for another time. He turned back to Edward, who finally stopped fussing with his attire and told Alfred what had transpired between him and Sir Robert the day before.

‘Is that what is weighing on you so, my beloved?’ Alfred asked, throwing away the covers and rising to his knees at the edge of the bed to be level with Edward and hold him, though he was fully clothed, and Alfred was quite naked.

Edward found comfort in feeling Alfred’s skin still silky soft from sleep and nuzzled against the curve of his shoulder, heaving a heavy sigh.

‘That’s not exactly all…’ he confessed, and Alfred pulled away and looked at Edward quizzically. ‘I think I might have lost… a book.’

‘A book?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was this book of any particular importance to you?’

‘It was. It really was.’

‘Well, which one is it? Have I seen it? Is it the Coleridge volume? Or the essays about early trade with colonies, which you’ve been devouring endlessly of late?’

‘Neither. It is a kind of notebook,’ Edward struggled to explain without actually revealing to Alfred that there is a record of their friendship and love somewhere out there in the world, and potentially in the wrong hands at present. ‘And you have not seen it, or I do not believe so.’

Alfred’s eyes lit up. ‘Is it a present?’

Edward bit his lip. Should he have said something now?

‘What does it look like?’ Alfred asked, dying to know.

‘It is quite unremarkable. About this size, its pages are expandable, it has dark green, leather binding…It was supposed to be in Charlotte’s safe in our house.’

‘Goodness! It must be very valuable indeed.’

‘You have no idea.’

‘Well… if it really is so special, she cannot have misplaced it.’

‘Hm. It really should have been there. If not there, then in the library, surely.’

‘You have moved a lot of things here very quickly. Who knows, mayhap she has it. Have you asked her?’

‘No, but I…’ _wouldn’t want to worry her_ , he wanted to say. ‘I didn’t want to bother her with my things. She was preoccupied by the fire and everything.’

‘Well, go ask now, I daresay she’s recovered. She is not too faint of heart to be asked about a notebook, my love.’

‘I…I can’t, I have to dash. Sir Robert will be waiting for me, no doubt still very angry.’

‘He can eat a… _fig_ , that man.’

Edward actually cracked up at that, in spite of himself. He kissed Alfred goodbye (and squeezed his buttocks to make sure to lighten his mood enough not to start prying) and left for Westminster.

As soon as he was out the door, Alfred grabbed his dressing gown and hurried down the hallways to the ladies’ rooms.

Edward was clearly worried out of his mind. Alfred was just about to believe him and not pry but then the way he grabbed his behind! Edward never did that when he already had his mind on work. Surely, something was up.

He knocked on the door rapidly and anxiously and a lot.

‘Wake up, wake up, open up!!!’

Charlotte opened the door, her hair a big, curly mess and she was in night clothes as well, clearly having recently got up and Alfred feared for his life under her death glare.

‘WHAT.’

‘Darling one,’ Cecilia intervened, brushing her hair while coming over and easing Charlotte away from the door and into a chair to fume there. ‘Is that how we treat our host? Hello, Alfred how can we help—oh! Goodness, that is a manly mane…’

She reached out to have a feel of the chest hair poking out of Alfred’s dressing gown like one drawn to touch a statue with a sign that said “NO TOUCHING”.

‘Cecilia!’ Charlotte hissed and her lover jumped.

‘I couldn’t resist, look at it, it’s luscious! She’s just jealous because I danced with you more than her last night,’ she added in a stage whisper.

‘Yes, my toes shall need to be soaked in ice for days,’ he said cheekily.

‘Oh, you! This is what I get for trying to brighten the mood!’

‘May I please talk to Charlotte?’

‘I was going anyway. The bath will overflow. Thank Heavens for this modern house – I will not carry jugs up all those stairs every day as a “housemaid”! _You_ be nice to him,’ Cecilia quipped, kissing Charlotte on the way to the bathroom behind a wallpapered door.

‘What’s wrong, Alfred?’ Charlotte asked, coming over to him, less annoyed because of the kiss and because he looked troubled indeed.

‘Are you aware that your safe has been emptied?’ he asked, getting to the point.

‘Why, yes.’

‘You _are_? Then why did you not alert Edward?!’

‘Because I was the one who emptied it.’

Alfred opened his mouth to argue but his brain registered her words just in time and he changed his attitude.

‘Oh.’

‘Yes, “oh”. Why?’

‘He believes he’s lost something. A notebook.’

‘There wasn’t any notebook of his in my safe.’

‘But he says it was stored there.’

‘Oh, but that was not a notebook, that was his—’

‘Charloootte!’ Cecilia called in a sing-song voice from the bathroom. ‘Your bath is ready, miss!’ she added in her best common accent.

Charlotte went over to the door. ‘Just a minute, I’m still talking to—oh my!’ she stopped and stood in the doorway of the bathroom with a gaping mouth.

‘Charlotte?’ Alfred asked her, sensing he was losing her.

‘Look, just have a look around, I’m sure his diary will be here somewhere.’

‘But… Wait, his WHAT?!’

‘Later, Alfred,’ Charlotte cut in and disappeared into the bathroom.

Whatever she had seen in there clearly won over Alfred and his quest for Edward’s diary.

Edward’s diary… Edward had a diary… if it was truly lost… Alfred knew just how affectionately, and more dangerously, how very meticulously Edward wrote about the things for which he cared deeply. Losing a diary of Edwards would be disastrous!

Hearing far more of the ladies than he had ever bargained for already, he rolled his eyes and left the room. He nearly bumped into Edward’s valet.

‘Wood!’

‘Your lordship,’ the valet stopped and bowed.

‘Where’s Wilson?’

‘I don’t know him, I mean, I hardly notice him…’

Alfred frowned. Wood gulped and went very, very red. _Way to go_ , he thought to himself, _the master of disguise._

‘Will you want to dress, my lord?’ he asked instead.

‘Me? Yes, uh, yes, I suppose so. And a shave.’

Twenty minutes later, Alfred had washed, been shaved, and dressed, though his vexation only increased when his own valet, Wilson, kept checking himself in the mirror and asking him whether Lord Alfred thought he needed a haircut.

‘Did the girl whom you took dancing last night criticise your style, Wilson?’

‘What girl? Oh. Um.’ And Wilson shrugged awkwardly. ‘Yes. I mean, no. _Eau de Cologne_ , my lord?’

Alfred couldn’t make out what had got into the valets that morning, but he was rather preoccupied by bigger fish. He spent the morning looking for a diary that fit the description. He upturned every shelf in the library and investigated every drawer.

‘You’re not still looking for it, are you?’ Charlotte asked, discovering him while on all fours under a desk.

‘Char-OUCH!’ Alfred bumped his head in the wood. Massaging his scalp, he emerged and faced her grimly. ‘I’m afraid I am.’

‘Didn’t you have a ceremony today at the Palace?’

‘I do and I haven’t even changed into my uniform. Alas, this is more urgent. Where the hell is this diary?’

‘Look, calm down. I distinctly remember bringing it over along with the other contents of my safe, Alfred. It has to be here, don’t worry.’

‘ _Don’t_ tell me not to worry! I had no idea Edward has even kept a diary until now.’

She bit her lip, pondering. ‘Look, I am certain the book was here because I saw it in Edward’s hands when we burned the letters at Christmas. I’m sorry but we didn’t have the heart to burn his diary so I personally placed it in my safe, where it remained until last Wednesday when I took it out of the safe and boxed it up and that box was on my lap throughout the carriage ride here.’

‘Then?’

‘I put it here in the library, just on Edward’s desk. I then got my items and placed them in my room, which reminds me, I require a new safe to be placed there. Anyway. By the time I came down, most of the boxes were unpacked. I assumed Edward must have placed it somewhere where he might use it and forgot about it – haven’t you ever looked for your pen and realised it was in your hand all the while? He does that all the time.’

‘I know.’

‘Have you even checked in his nightstand? He can be a genius but also too silly to realise it is in its most obvious place.’

They went upstairs to check Edward’s bedside table. Still no success. Growing concerned, Charlotte pulled the rope hanging by the bed to ring for a servant.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Cecilia was pretending to read a sewing magazine but what she was really doing was observing the two valets of the house, who seemed to be playing at a strange dance. It went like this: Wood was drying a teacup and stole a glance of Wilson’s rather fit physique while he was stacking heavy crates of vegetables on the table. Those rolled-up sleeves did wonders to his arms indeed. Wilson wiped his forehead between each crate and used that as an excuse to steal a glance of Wood whilst the latter was bent over the sink to wash more china. Occasionally, they failed to coordinate their covert looks perfectly and their eyes accidentally met, resulting in several minutes of awkward and very palpable silence. Indeed, she had never felt so ignored in her life.

The bell to the main suite rang and the men moved to drop what they were doing and answer it. However, Cecilia stood instead.

‘No, let me see to this, chaps. I suspect you need some privacy.’

Once Cecilia made it upstairs, Alfred and Charlotte filled her in on the tale of the misplaced diary.

‘But this is disastrous!’ she burst out, pacing up and down. ‘How could this be? None of us is such a flippant creature. Charlotte, this could be the end of everything for us!’

‘Do try not to worry, my love,’ Charlotte replied, following her around the room. ‘After all, it’s the men that are in real danger.’

‘And how much do you reckon our names feature in his blasted diary?’

‘I hardly think Edward is well-versed or even interested in ladies’ _pastimes_ …’ Alfred interjected, earning outraged looks.

‘ _I only meant_ that my escape and whereabouts can be clearly concluded from the diary,’ Cecilia explained, making Alfred feel like a prize idiot. ‘Ugh! I shall kill Edward when he comes home! I would rather die than go back to my step-father, Charlotte!’

‘If it is any comfort, he might die regardless of what he chooses, and so might I!’ Alfred raised her.

‘Let us not be so dramatic,’ Charlotte urged everyone. ‘Let me think…’

She rang for servants again and luckily, Wood appeared, though somewhat dishevelled and fighting to catch his breath, she noticed. All those hundreds of steps in this huge house, probably. Right?

‘Wood, have you any recollection of Mr Drummond’s diary?’ she asked.

‘I do, Miss Drummond,’ the valet responded. ‘The little, green book, is it not?’

‘That’s the one. It was in one of the smaller boxes when we moved recently, along with a set of sapphire and diamond jewellery, a tiara, a long box, some drawings of… of… some figure drawings,’ she euphemised for Cecilia’s modesty’s sake, ‘a pistol with an ivory-handle, and a copy of Mary Anne Clarke’s memoirs.’

Alfred’s ears perked up. ‘Weren’t all 18,000 copies of those burnt decades ago?’

‘I rescued the one kept in the vaults of the bank,’ Charlotte explained to the side casually. ‘Now, Wood, where might the diary be, if not in my brother’s library or desks?’

‘Why, I thought Mr Drummond’s things went into his suite. For appearances' sake.’

‘You have placed the diary in Drummond’s suite?’ Alfred asked, heart racing with hope.

‘I have. I apologise, my lord, I thought that was right. Mr Drummond slept there while, uh… during the winter. Perhaps it was out of habit. I’m sorry—’

Alfred hushed further apologies and nearly ran out of the room to get to Edward’s. In there, he went right to the bedside table and found the diary indeed, to his immense, immense relief.

He opened it to check it really was Edward’s handwriting.

And he couldn’t put it down all day.

*

‘… outdated laws that prevent essential free trade between the country that I love and her oversees lands,’ Sir Robert preached, his voice drowned out once again.

On the Speaker’s right, all booed as one.

‘ORDER! OOORDER!’

Edward’s heart sank. The debates had gone on all day and it was well past dinnertime. Sir Robert only spoke to him about the debates, still angry at his insolence. That was nothing compared to what awaited him at home: Alfred was bound to be cross with him for not sending him a note that he would be late. He knew Alfred was wearing his uniform that day and he did not want to miss the chance to take it off him.

 _Focus on work, Edward._ Sir Robert was trying his best and their joint research was solid but after the Corn Laws he only had half his own party’s support. As for the Whigs, they just cared about putting their own interests first as businessmen and landowners. One of their backbenchers stood up and spoke:

‘The honourable Member of the Opposition is an advocate of free trade at sea, just as he was willing to jeopardise our profits for the sake of free crop flow with Ireland when they were careless enough not to prepare for bad years—’

‘ORDER!!!’

‘Sir Robert is no doubt turning a blind eye on piracy and conmen east, west, north, and south, but he is not so lenient in the capital of the country he claims to love!’

‘POINT OF ORDER, what does this have to do with anything!?’ shouted the opposition members when the Whig MP’s words were followed by much jeering and leering from his own side. To no avail. He continued.

‘If the honourable member spent less time policing every nook and cranny of the metropolitan area, and more time taking a good look at sea routes, he would see the continued need to uphold the Navigation Acts to protect home produce and keep our manufactures thriving.’

More jeering “ayes” and boos and calls for order. Edward’s head was splitting. Of course, they were in the hour of personal attacks, both sides having run out of reasonable points.

The backbencher was not done enjoying his 15 minutes of fame.

‘He may think himself better than others and the patron saint of morality. Perhaps he is. However, the Chartists say his obsessive cracking down on prostitutes and degenerates is just an excuse for Sir Robert’s dogs to sniff where they ought not to and in the process make the already disadvantaged live in terror of their own police force. Perhaps he is merely trying to compensate for something. Perhaps he is ashamed of his father’s petition for the continuation of slavery? Such a man must be an expert at oversees trade indeed!’

He couldn’t help himself add savagely:

‘Perhaps he is not such an expert. If the honourable Member of the Opposition desires to be better versed in navigation, I suggest he fill his gaps by consulting his very own son, Captain Peel, who is said to be more than familiar with the seas, particularly with sailors’ muskets!’

The whole House was outraged, and the MP was made to sit down, though he was terribly satisfied with himself. On the other hand, Sir Robert could not have been more mortified. Edward wished he could actually just snap his fingers and disappear and let the earth swallow him whole.

The Speaker suspended the debate soon after this. Sir Robert was the first out of the hall. He did not even want to speak to Drummond on his way out, his embarrassment was such. This is what he got for rejecting the Whigs.

Edward could not care less. He couldn’t wait to get home since he was still yet to find his diary. And if he was honest, he could not justify Sir Robert’s zero tolerance policy on men like Edward himself was. He had no inclination to visit those houses where men sold themselves for money. But then, he was extremely lucky to have Alfred. He supposed most people could not afford grand houses and the kind of privacy and escape routes he and Alfred could. No wonder they sought out illicit places like that. Not that he approved but he at least began to understand it. On top of this, he did not appreciate the fact that in the eyes of the law, what he and Alfred had was the same as what went on in molly houses. Their lives as Edward’s would be equally ruined if they were discovered just because Sir Robert derived a sense of superior satisfaction out of it and believed he was merely doing God’s work.

Well, he could go mope in his office. Edward longed for a warm meal and Alfred’s yet warmer kisses.

‘Hello?’ he called upon arriving home. His voice echoed through the high-ceilinged foyer and yet no one came to help his coat off him. Where was his valet? Two nights in a row? Edward didn’t remember giving him another day off, but then it was so late, everyone must have gone to bed.

He was wrong, Cecilia hurried down the steps and skipped to him.

‘Hat, sir, coat, sir,’ she jested, ridding Edward of them quite unceremoniously.

‘Cecilia!?’

‘You have to come upstairs,’ she said, grabbed his hand and dragged him rapidly upstairs. ‘Good news: Alfred’s found your diary.’

‘He found it!?’

‘That’s right. Your valet put it in your suite by mistake. You needn’t have worried.’

‘Is that where you are taking me? I can find my way there on my own, you know.’

‘No, you don’t understand,’ she said in a hushed, grim voice that struck fear. ‘Alfred’s _found_ it.’

Edward frowned, anxiety coming over him.

‘Crikey, you don’t mean… he’s read some of it?’ he asked, his heart beating.

‘Some? He has not put it down all day. He even skipped a military something or other today at the Palace. He said he was too affected to go outside. Too self-conscious. I suspect he took offence at certain candid parts. You wrote it for yourself, not for his eyes – I dread to think what he’s thinking, having read those brutally honest passages! He’s been in there all day, asking not to be disturbed, but we could hear him.’

‘Hear him?’

‘You know, crying. He barely touched his food all day, and I made madeleines and hot chocolate especially for him. He must be awfully depressed.’

They arrived at the door of Edward’s suite. He gulped.

‘I’m not sure how to face him. I thought I wrote about him in nothing but the most loving ways! Golly! He shall have my head for writing it at all. Does he really find it so ghastly?’

Cecilia bit back a grin.

‘If I were you, I’d go in and accept whatever is to come.’

Edward bit his dry bottom lip and turned the doorknob.

What awaited him was not at all the dreadful image he expected.

The whole room glistened with candles. There was a bottle of champagne on ice on a table. A red military uniform was hanging off the back of a chair. Its owner, Alfred, was indeed there, reading his diary but he wasn’t crying, nor was he cross. He was lounging on the crimson silk bedspread in a loose, white shirt and black trousers, lying on his stomach, with his feet dangling playfully in the air. He seemed to be captivated by the diary and when he looked up, it was with the warmest, softest, most loving look imaginable.

Edward just caught Cecilia retreating behind the door, very much giggling to herself for making him believe Alfred would be angry with him. She left them to it.

Alfred closed the diary, hopped off the bed, and approached Edward.

‘I’m sorry,’ were Edward’s first words. He was never a man of words around Alfred’s effect.

‘Don’t be, my love.’

‘Did you really miss the parade?’

‘You should know by now not to believe Cecilia’s every word. But as soon as I could, I was back here and kept reading. I ought to apologise as well. I shouldn’t have but… You were right not to burn it. Like many things in Charlotte’s safe, it is a real treasure.’

‘So you are not cross with me?’

‘It’s completely foolish, of course, absolutely inexcusable! By God! What _were_ you thinking?! Just calling for danger, totally insane. Which is why…’

Alfred put down the book and reached into his pocket. He got down on one knee in front of Edward.

‘What are you doing?’ Edward asked.

Alfred presented him with a small box.

‘Feel free to call me insane in return. Edward. I would have to write my own version of a three-hundred-page account of the past years of knowing and loving you and even then I could never express even a fraction of how I feel for you.’

‘What are you…? Stand up…’ Edward muttered, put on the spot and dragging Alfred on his feet.

‘Very well, I can say it on my feet, too,’ Alfred decided, not one to be thwarted. They were inches apart, their noses brushed against each other and he spoke in barely over a whisper. ‘You are my life. I was so lost for a long time but everything I am and have ever been has led to finding you. Through thick and thin, through disaster after disaster,’ he added with a self-aware little laugh, ‘I have loved you and, though I do not know why I got so lucky, you have loved me so in turn. Reading your words… I have never imagined anyone could feel like this at all, let alone for me. You have fooled me, Mr Just the Politics and Sports Columns.’

Edward grinned and shook his head. There was no arguing that was very him.

‘You have seen me at my worst and thought the best of me. I thank you for that. I thank you with my life and love. The challenge stands, Edward: I dare you to make me bored. Without further ado, therefore, will you marry me?’

Edward, who had welled up, heard himself giggle.

‘I _would_ but…’

‘Then _would_ you?’

‘But…’

‘Yes, I know, we can’t hire Westminster Abbey, or whatever, and who gives a fig about it? It is enough that you say yes.’

‘What do you think they are doing?’ Cecilia asked, pacing up and down in Charlotte’s room. ‘I want to go check.’

‘Shush, we will not. Leave them be,’ Charlotte said, though she was only pretending to be patient, finding it hard not to jump up and down in her seat on the bed.

‘How can you be so calm? Your brother may be getting engaged as we speak!’

‘Eh, he was engaged for forever before,’ Charlotte shrugged.

‘But this is different!’

‘Indeed! Somehow I do not think Mama and Papa will pressure him into _this_ one. Or be informed about it at all.’

‘Oh, Charlotte… It is different because he actually loves Alfred.’

‘Yes. He really does. Therefore, I need not worry about the outcome.’

‘Who’s worried? I want to go and celebrate!’ At that point, a pop sounded. Cecilia shrieked with joy. ‘Ah! That’ll be the champagne!’

There was no stopping the ladies, they ran down the hallway and knocked.

‘Hmm—c-come in!’ Alfred’s muffled voice sounded.

Charlotte and Cecilia entered to the sight of the boys kissing and spilling champagne on the carpet in the process. Edward was wearing the locket.

‘Have you done it?’ Cecilia asked. ‘He said yes?’

‘Of course, he did,’ Charlotte said, taking the champagne from them to save it. ‘Have you seen anyone so in love as they?’

‘Show us the ring!’

‘It is not a ring,’ Alfred said, after parting from Edward’s lips, smiling from ear to ear. He pointed to a walnut-sized golden locket on a chain hanging around Edward’s neck. ‘I thought it should be something Edward can wear always, even in public, but hidden so as not to provoke questions.’

‘It is beautiful,’ Edward said, overwhelmed by it all.

‘I have not taken the liberty to place anything in it – make of it what you will, just as of me and our future.’

Edward shielded them from the ladies’ view but he had to kiss Alfred again. Cecilia actually said “aww” out loud, while Charlotte was still finding it hard to compute that her studious brother had this in him after all.

‘So… Yes, consider us married,’ Alfred announced once they came back down to earth.

‘Wait, there’s not going to be a wedding?’ Cecilia asked, turning grumpy at once.

‘How would there possibly be one?’

‘I don’t know, we shall think of something. You’ll not rob us of a splendid day! We must start planning it!’

‘You do that, girls,’ Edward said. ‘Alright, now leave, bugger off,’ he added pushing Charlotte out of the door.

‘Hey! We were going to celebrate,’ Charlotte exclaimed, not appreciating being shoved out into the hallway.

‘Ahem, well, Alfred and I have to, uh, celebrate between ourselves first.’ Edward said and swept Alfred off his feet, carrying him to their suite bridal style.

Alfred was taken quite by surprise. ‘Ho! You are freakishly strong.’

‘I might drop you, actually,’ Edward said, swaying.

‘I’m not that heavy!’

‘Well…’

‘Edward!’

‘You’re perfect, I just haven’t eaten all day.’

‘Let us hurry to the bed, then. Wait, don’t forget my uniform!’

Edward humoured him and carried him back into the room to grab the jacket and back out into the hallway, towards their own rooms.

‘But… but… I helped Alfred prepare the room!’ Cecilia shouted after them indignantly.

‘It’s splendid – blow out the candles on your way out, will you?’

And with that, the ladies were left alone in the hallway.

‘Champagne?’ Charlotte asked.

‘We might as well,’ Cecilia tutted. ‘Want to also make a mess of Edward’s suite?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

‘Ohoho!’ Cecilia exclaimed once they had gone in.

‘What?’

‘They left the diary here.’

Charlotte mirrored Cecilia’s mischievous grin. They settled on the bed for some bedtime reading and drinks.


	28. Invitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecilia has second thoughts about her undercover life and her curiosity gets the better of her. Meanwhile, Edward and Alfred are drowning in commitments and invitations, though the one that arrives this morning may be a welcome one.

_June, 1947_

Charlotte hailed herself across the bed and pleaded for Cecilia not to go downstairs.

‘Please, just once.’

‘I cannot,’ Cecilia replied sadly. ‘I must breakfast with the staff, you know that.’

‘They don’t matter. You matter.’

‘If I really matter, let go of my skirt, please, and let me go get my apron and start the day, as I should if I am to keep my disguise.’

‘Why don’t we just tell them? They are keeping Edward and Alfred’s secret. They’ll keep ours.’

‘The valets, yes. But there are day maids, deliverers, newsboys, washerwomen, biweekly gardeners, and there is a cook and a kitchen maid that comes every morning, my dearest. Or did you think your eggs boiled themselves?’

‘I miss your eggs. And breakfasts with you. Why don’t we move back to Mayfair? The house is ready. And it’s not so ridiculously oversized. We can water our own rose bushes there.’

Cecilia would have said something naughty but she was torn. Not her dress, just her spirits.

‘If you wish, we can…’

‘But?’ Charlotte asked, knowing there was a “but”.

‘Oh, I should like to stay here just a bit more, please. I miss company. I stare out the window all day and watch the park and wish I could just pop out and take a stroll, just once, without the fear of bumping into acquaintances who would give me away. Gardens must be wonderful at this time of the year and I’m missing it, I’m missing it all! And then the invitations to tea, to balls, to the theatre! Oh, I do miss the theatre. I detest that I must be cooped up here like a dirty secret. Funny, Edward is uneasy outdoors, he tells me, still feeling anxious and imagining the sound of a gunshot where there’s nothing, whilst I cannot stand being locked indoors, traumatised by what my step-father did to me. It’s not right. I don’t like his hold over me. Don’t misunderstand me: naturally, I would give up anything for you, my dearest, _dearest_ Charlotte. But you know me. I like having friends around.’

‘They are not friends. They are our staff.’

‘Really, Charlotte, you cannot be so snobbish. Besides, what about Edward and Alfred?’

‘Edward is at the House all day. As for Alfred, he often disappears for days to tail the queen. And when they _are_ at home, they waste no time locking themselves in their bedroom.’

‘Well, you cannot blame them. I remember the days when I had to wait for weeks to see you. No wonder the chaps jump at each other every chance they get. I would. I did!’

Charlotte was unappeased. ‘You seem awfully friendly with Alfred when he’s not being friendly with my brother…’

Cecilia cracked up. ‘I have not yet addressed this tone of yours because I love you but honestly. Stop it.’

‘Stop what, what tone?’

‘That jealous sort of tone.’

‘Jealous? Who’s jealous? I’m not jealous…’

‘Or a very good actress, my love. Just in case there’s any doubt in that pretty head of yours, Alfred is lovely but men continue not move me. He can go cry about it to Edward, though I suspect he won’t. I flirt and I flirt and he gives me nothing!’

Charlotte eased up and chuckled to herself. She remembered Edward’s diary all too vividly. What a laugh the ladies had, reading it! Edward’s avoidance of their company was probably party due to the fact that they teased him with quotes from his soppiest and most lascivious passages.

‘I’m sorry,’ Charlotte said. ‘I know you two aren’t… but I cannot help my thoughts. Just as you are affected by what happened to you last year, longing for the outdoors, so am I still burning with jealousy at the very thought of bachelors around you, whoever that may be. I watched you dance with a hundred men last season. Helplessly, too. Every time a man even went near you, I wanted to shove a dessert knife in him. I still do.’

‘That sounds flattering and possessive.’

‘I exaggerate but the sentiment is genuine.’

‘You should worry about the men _you_ dance with.’

Charlotte groaned and buried herself under the pillows.

‘Touched a nerve, have I?’ Cecilia asked, regretting it. ‘When are your parents coming for lunch?’

‘Tomorrow! How will I survive it? I cannot tolerate them without you.’

‘It’s only your parents.’

‘And an eligible bachelor friend of theirs whom they “happened to” meet on the way here. I’d bet ten guineas they’ll pull this again.’

‘Ten _guineas_? You _are_ affected by Alfred after all. Oh, darling, don’t fret. Edward promised to be here.’

Charlotte re-emerged in a cloud of down feathers with an angry frown. ‘I predict he shall send a note saying something about something terribly important to do for Sir Robert that simply cannot wait or her got an invite to dine with the Queen, and he shall be forgiven, whereas I will be criticised to bits before the first course is over, about my posture, the amount I eat and drink and speak _and_ marriage, of course. _And_ they haven’t even seen my new hair! Oh, please, join us, Cecilia, I beg you!’

Cecilia pried Charlotte’s hands off her clothes and kissed them.

‘I’ll think about it. Give me the day. But for now, I need to go down.’

Charlotte let go of her and Cecilia made it downstairs just in time for the servants’ breakfast. She amused herself by spying on the valets, who kept up their habit of glancing at each other covertly across the table ever since. The cook was a lovely, elderly woman, who always had to be convinced by the whole lot of them to sit down and eat with them. She only relented to have a cup of tea, saying the cook doesn’t eat with the others. The kitchen maid was young and personable and very good at Snap. She told the best jokes, too. Sometimes, a delivery person or a newsboy would join them and bring the latest gossip. Cecilia was loyal to Charlotte and she wished also that she could simply spend her days with her as her partner without the fear of discovery. After all, any of these servants could be working for a house that welcomed her stepfather and siblings, and then the jig would be well up. Perhaps it hardly mattered whether she was in disguise or not. She had to admit, though, would miss these newfound friends.

The bell rang for the servants’ door. Cecilia offered to get it as she was already done eating.

‘Oh, good, the vegetables!’ she exclaimed, moving to take the crate from the delivery girl.

‘Huh. You’re new. Ha! I see!’ the girl spat, not very friendly at all.

‘Excuse me, miss, what do you see?’

‘Where’s Danny?’

‘Who?’

‘Danny Wilson, a valet here. Don’t pretend you don’t know him – he’s abandoned me for you, surely. I see now.’

Wood hurried over, took the crate from the girl and basically kicked her out by shoving the door closed behind him with a kick and no care in the world.

Cecilia looked up at him quizzically.

Wood stood there like a scolded schoolboy.

She quirked an eyebrow.

Eventually, he just shrugged and took the veg into the kitchen. She followed, feeling very nosy and not even hiding it.

‘What was _that_ about?’ she demanded.

‘What?’ Wood shrugged her off and wiped his hands on a tablecloth casually.

Lately, he had been a changed man. He was no longer annoyed by the smallest mistakes and irregularities around the house and he handled the pressure posed by the upstairs gentlemen’s unconventional lifestyle much better. No shoes were flying anymore upstairs either, which helped. Furthermore, when questioned about his own choices, he didn’t feel the need to explain himself to anyone. This new, relaxed Walter Wood was a much improved version of himself but it meant that Cecilia had a more difficult time extracting any good gossip out of him. Her charms did not work either. He seemed _settled_.

‘That girl, asking for, well, for you Mr Wilson,’ she pointed at the other valet, who remained guiltily silent, though partly because he was chewing on a huge mouthful of toast.

She caught Wood shooting him a look before responding to a bell from upstairs. She could have sworn it was _flirtation_. She waited until the kitchen staff were gone and he caught Wilson alone.

‘Ha! Look,’ he said whilst unpacking the crate of veg. He was holding up a carrot shaped like one’s manhood. He held it to his crotch as well, having a giggle about it.

‘Charming,’ she said flatly. ‘Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you and Wood and that snappy delivery girl?’

‘We pay her, she brings us veg, we eat them.’

‘Don’t be cheeky with me. We’re… _they_ are all curious upstairs. Even Mr Drummond’s noticed his valet has an air of confidence about him that he did not before.’

‘He has, has he?’ Wilson grinned to himself knowingly, which drove her mad.

‘Come, out with it!’

‘What do you know about these things? Don’t poke your nose in anything you’d find too stinky.’

Cecilia swatted Wilson’s hand away when he tried to pinch her nose.

‘I know everything that goes on in this house,’ she declared insistently. ‘Give it up! I’ve bet Alfred five pounds that you and Wood are…’

‘Ha! As if you had five pounds to wager! Besides, it’s _Lord_ Alfred, mind you. Don’t let Wood hear you talk like that. He fancies himself the butler around here, you’ll get your bottom spanked if you don’t watch out.’

Cecilia huffed indignantly. Her nose, her bottom… whatever else today? Perhaps it really was time she gave up this charade, simply to reassume her due decorum.

‘Fine, then that’ll be Miss Wyndham to you, Wilson.’

‘You’ve stepped up as solely lady’s maid, then?’

‘No, I _am_ a lady, I’ll have you know.’

‘Haha, very funny,’ Wilson said sarcastically and didn’t even look up from his job.

‘Why is that funny?’

‘Let’s just say I’ve had enough of your pranks to believe it. Queen Cecilia, oh, great ladyship! And I’m Charles Dickens!’

She grinned calmly. She cleared her throat and spoke in her natural, refined voice.

‘You can believe it. I am Cecilia Wyndham, daughter of George Thomas Wyndham of Cromer Hall, Norfolk, who passed away when I was very young. My mother remarried and thus my current guardians are my Mama, though to you she is Maria Augusta, Countess of Listowel, and my stepfather, William, Earl of Listowel. Not a very nice man.’

Wilson frowned and stopped what he was doing to get a good look at her.

‘Alright, suppose you were a great lady as you say – why are you prancing around in a grey dress and sewing Miss Drummond’s petticoats downstairs?’

‘Oh, I do more with her petticoats, believe you me. We are to each other as Edward and Alfred, just prettier and without the right to vote. Really. You are welcome to ask Charlotte. As it happens, she rescued me from my ghastly stepfather’s house, saving me from a marriage I did not want. It was Edward’s idea I pretend to be a housemaid so as not to be discovered and taken back home. Of course, we never expected the fire, but we may move back soon to Mayfair. We do like our privacy.’

Wilson wanted to laugh and tell her to stop talking rubbish but something about her told him not to. He slowly lost his sceptical smirk and realised: she was telling the truth. He gulped, went completely pale, and stood up straight at once.

‘Look, Miss Wyndham, I’m sorry about the carrot—’

She chuckled and hardly contained her glee at this turn of events. Eh, well, she might as well have done it – Charlotte would need her support at lunch with her parents. Besides, this gave her licence to pry more.

‘Now, Wilson, Charlotte can be fierce with anyone who might cross me. Therefore, I ask you again, what has been going on with you chaps?’

The valet slumped and gave in. If he didn’t want to dig himself into deeper troubles, he would have to talk.

‘Are you really… in the know? With things upstairs? And with… well… Miss Drummond?’

‘I am. Very familiar.’

‘Alright, well, then I won’t shock you. It happened a couple of months ago. Walt—I mean Mr Wood came home late from his half-day…’

He told her everything about that row they had up until the moment Wood kissed him.

‘And?’ she urged him, dying to know.

‘Well… I just… I mean I wasn’t… opposed to… Ma’am, I can’t talk to you about these things. You’re a great lady and all!’

‘SPEAK, for heaven’s sake.’

Wilson was defeated. ‘I dunno, kissed back, didn’t I?! I’ve always thought he was a handsome lad. Just very reserved and nervy or something. That’s what I said to him, that he should have fun. So… I gave him some fun.’

Cecilia’s eyes went wide.

‘Trouble was, we were just here, minding our business, getting into it...’

‘Here? On the kitchen table!?’

‘Eh… well… yes. BUT, then there’s this irate knocking on the door. Madge shows up, livid because I never showed at the _thé dansant_. Served me right, I’d completely forgotten all about her! She called me all sorts of names, whacked a handful of mud in my face and left. By the time I came back, Walt was gone. I didn’t know what to think of it. It was a bit awkward the next day but then…’ the valet broke out in a smile. ‘It’s been alright, can’t complain.’

‘I knew it,’ she rejoiced triumphantly.

‘Look, don’t get ideas – it’s not like the gentlemen upstairs. We’re just… passing time.’

‘Ahem. Passing time by…’

‘Shush! I don’t care your mother’s a countess, I have a right to privacy meself! …Did you really bet five whole pounds on it with his lordship, ma’am?’

‘You’ll get all of it as a reward for telling me. Double! I must tell Charlotte. She owes me five more pounds. She didn’t believe I could get you to tell me,’ Cecilia said, shocking Wilson and getting rid of her apron. ‘Now… I won’t need this anymore. Ah, it’s glorious to be right! Ah, hello, Wood.’

The other valet appeared just as she was leaving.

‘Oh, and I trust you to keep your mouth shut, both of you boys,’ she added.

Wood looked questioningly at Wilson, who slumped into a chair, feeling like a prize idiot.

Meanwhile, Edward was attached to Alfred’s lips even as the latter was trying to get off the chaise in their suite to get dressed.

‘Must you go?’ he mumbled against his lips.

Alfred giggled into the kiss. ‘I’m already late. I really, really, regrettably, must dress.’

‘Who says?’

‘A hundred, armed hussars and the Royal Horse Guards who are waiting for me in Buckingham Gardens.’

Edward sighed and fell back on the chaise, already missing Alfred’s lips. He adjusted the bedsheet haphazardly wrapped around his waist, under which he was wearing nothing, and resigned himself to watching Alfred dress without his valet’s assistance to save time.

‘Will I see you tonight?’ Edward asked and caught Alfred’s guilty look in the mirror and his heart sank. ‘Not another ball!’

‘It’s not a ball… it’s a dinner and a dance.’

‘In other words: a ball. Where this time?’

‘Lord and Lady Brockenhurst’s in Belgravia.’

‘How do you still stand on your feet?

‘Do not act like you haven’t been showered with invitations to eligible ladies’ balls all spring and summer!’

‘That’s different!’

‘How so?’ Alfred laughed heartily.

‘I can rarely go, owing to the fact I often leave the House at midnight as it is! You must dance with a dozen hopeful ladies every night. I do hope as well that they have no chance at catching you in their web for more than a Waltz.’

‘Not unless they have your shoulders. Or arms. Or cheekbones. Or thighs. Or… The answer is no. They shall remain hopelessly hopeful.’

‘Do try not to get in too late this time. You ought to be awake for the lunch tomorrow.’

‘What lunch?’

‘My parents are coming. I told you weeks ago.’

‘Oh, good God! Damn!’ Alfred groaned mid-buttoning his clothes. ‘Well, since I have forgotten to make up a good excuse not to attend, I shall unfortunately be here for this wretched lunch indeed.’

‘Thank you. It’s only lunch.’

‘But you said they’re horrible.’

‘Not to you. And you can always charm everyone with your chatter. We shall need it tomorrow, both Charlotte and I. Can you really not miss one of these balls? If I’m lucky Sir Robert will get too angry at me again and dismiss me a little early.’

‘Well, there’s a plan! Is he really so intolerable of late?’

‘So intolerable he cannot tolerate me!’

‘Oh, Edward…’

‘If only I could give him a piece of my mind!’

‘But you won’t,’ Alfred warned him, not for the first time, worried what this will come to if Edward wasn’t careful.

‘Of course not. Though I should. For the sake of the future.’

‘And for _our_ sake, I beg you, do not.’

‘No. No, I will not,’ Edward sighed sadly. ‘Please, Alfred. To hell with the Brockenhursts. I barely see you these days.’

‘Well, I’m sorry. It is the height of the season. I could miss a ball, of course, I could, and offend the hosts endlessly and never get another invitation in my natural lifetime, destroying a whole host of connections in the process.’

‘On the other hand, we could enjoy a night in.’

‘Tempting. Alas, I must go to this one. Her Majesty has entrusted me and Lady Portman on getting the measure of the next lady of the bedchamber. She doesn’t want to make the same mistake as with the Duchess of Buccleuch…’ Alfred trailed off, her memory still hanging heavily between them, as it would forever. ‘A few candidates are invited tonight. I simply cannot miss it.’

Edward didn’t argue more and lay back on the chaise longue.

‘I think I know what I should like to put in this locket,’ he mused, playing with the object which he never took off even if it sometimes hit Alfred in the chin when they were in a certain position.

‘Really? What is that?’ Alfred asked once his head popped out of the collar of his shirt.

‘I’ll tell you, but you must promise not to get cross.’

‘Now I’m tremendously curious.’

‘I was wondering if I may ask for a lock of your hair, my love. So as not to miss you so painfully much when I cannot have you in my arms, which seems to be so oft.’

Alfred stopped dressing and looked at Edward strangely. Edward worried he had said something wrong and was about to apologise for wanting to ruin Alfred’s perfect hairstyle. But Alfred just dashed back to the chaise and rewarded him by a heartfelt kiss.

‘I take that as a yes,’ Edward said happily.

‘On one condition,’ Alfred replied. ‘That I get a lock of yours, too.’

Edward grinned. After weeks of debating it, he finally knew just what to get for Alfred’s birthday.

There was a knock on the door and Wilson stepped in, carrying a tray. After delivering an envelope to Drummond, he assisted Lord Alfred with his uniform.

‘Ah, how splendid!’ Edward rejoiced upon reading the letter. ‘This is an invitation to Miss Coke and Monsieur Beauchamp’s wedding!’

‘How delightful indeed!’ Alfred exclaimed. ‘When is it?’

‘August. It _will_ be in Scotland. Just before you are due to accompany Her Majesty anyway.’

‘That’s very thoughtful of her. We must send a reply as soon as possible. Does she say whether we can bring guests?’

‘One each.’

‘She’s a real pearl indeed. I’ve written to her about Cecilia – unnamed, of course, just as Charlotte’s friend in need of a trip. She must have remembered. Well, the ladies shall have their wedding at last. We have been a disappointment to them on this front.’

‘Do you think we might write to Michael on this pretext?’

‘Are you so very partial to his wine? I thought we’ve ordered enough to last a year,’ Alfred teased and thanked Wilson to send him away now that he was fully dressed in his bright red jacket and golden ropes.

Edward forgot to answer, only when he heard his name once or twice.

‘Sorry, what?’

‘What is it with you and uniforms?’ Alfred asked, though not at all cross. ‘I was wondering why you are so keen to write to Michael.’

‘To invite him, of course.’

‘To Scotland?’

‘Do you think he would object?’

‘Not at all. But if we do, we must offer to host him and I assume his wife and perhaps their children, to a measure and in a manner that compensates for the trouble of the journey. It would mean more time away from Parliament. You may berate me for answering invitations to balls but your own days are getting longer and longer.’

‘All the more reason for a break. Perhaps it would do well to remind Sir Robert of my value by being absent. And I do miss the countryside. Bretagne was so tranquil. It was exquisite, no parallel in the world – perhaps only Scotland. I should love to return this summer.’

‘You never talk like this about the country. Tired of London?’

‘Not exactly tired but London can be stifling.’

‘Hear, hear…’

‘And I get the feeling Michael would benefit from it.’

‘Really? Why? What does he say?’

‘It’s what he doesn’t say. I cannot put my finger on it. I ask about his family always, but he never remembers to write. Perhaps on purpose. I’m not sure, it’s just a feeling, might be nothing. The letters are in my desk, you are welcome to read them. There is nothing there that would surprise you, not after you’ve read my diary.’

Alfred smiled. Some passages have etched themselves into his mind forever. Passages about love, about their joint memories, about things they did… Focusing on the present, he did wonder how Michael could live without it. He gave up all hopes of true romance. Alfred felt guilty for not writing to him as often as he should and never picking up on his melancholia, which Edward obviously did.

‘Besides, I may want to show you something up north,’ Edward added sitting up all businesslike, despite his attire of a single bedsheet.

‘What’s that?’

‘A surprise.’

Alfred considered it and checked his pocket watch, realising he ought to go so the verdict came to him quickly.

‘Perhaps you are right,’ he decided. ‘Let’s make a trip out of it. We’ll travel there a few days early. Michael may be invited to the wedding, for all we know.’

‘I shall send her a reply today and find out.’

‘You’re wonderful,’ Alfred said, kissed Edward goodbye, and left for the Palace to inspect the troops.


	29. The Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dreaded lunch turns into a laugh, except for Charlotte who must give a ball. Cecilia's disguise has upsides and downsides. Edward reaches his limits and he and Sir Robert must learn their lessons on forgiveness. Will this be the night when laughter turns into ashes in the end?

Charlotte was relieved. Both Edward and Alfred were true to their words and made it to lunch with Mr and Mrs Drummond. As for Cecilia, she was there and she wasn’t.

‘Where is your friend from again, Charlotte?’ Mrs Drummond asked, once she had got over her shock at her daughter’s butchered hair.

She actually wore it quite stylishly in Alfred’s opinion, though there was no hiding its length, or what it lacked in it. However, his objective was to keep the Drummond parents happy so he did not argue with them at all and had their favourite wine served for dessert, which he knew from Edward reminded them of their honeymoon.

Anyway, since her daughter, as the men, were too red in the face from repressed giggles, Cecilia replied proudly:

‘Ahahahem,’ she cleared her throat ceremoniously. ‘I am from Switzerland, madame,’ she replied.

She did so in a ridiculous, thick German/French accent that made no sense but did not get questioned by the Drummond parents, who were too polite and wooden to do any such thing. They lacked the imagination to believe that someone would lie about their country of origin for whatever reason. They certainly did not recognise Miss Wyndham, only their daughter’s very best friend from last year, because she was wearing a wig fashioned out of the long locks she had cut off Charlotte’s hair, and thick, round glasses that shrunk her big, beautiful eyes to half their size. The accentuation of her freckles with paint was a last-minute addition, as were the frills on her dress. She was playing the part of Lady Hilda Fritzenbauen-Fauxville, the Honourable. She liked poodles and crème éclairs and chewed everything twenty-seven times because she read in a women’s magazine that it was good for staying young and thin and her ankles needed some slimming according to her beloved grandmother whose judgement she trusted above all others.

‘And how do you know each other?’

‘Ah, but zat ist very charmant story,’ Cecilia, or “Hilda” volunteered. ‘I fas at the theatre and juste as I fas taking a seat, I drop my binoculars! And who should catch it but my dearest Charlotte ‘ere! I say, thank you for catching my eyes for me – I could not think of the word in my state of absolute shock! – and she says to me from the box below “Come down here and get a better view instead” We haf been fast friends ever since, Madame Drummonde.’

‘Yes, we have, Mama,’ Charlotte fought down her laughter to reply, managing a poker face somehow. ‘Hilda is a wonderful friend. There is not a dull moment with her.’

‘Ja, ja, we play croquet every day! I haf awards, I am super gut.’

Edward had to observe the chandelier so as to avoid Alfred’s eyes, otherwise they would both have burst out in laughter.

Perhaps a stifled snort could be heard from one of the menservants flattening themselves against the wall in the background but they ignored that.

‘And I hear the house in Mayfair has been renovated,’ Mr Drummond Sr. picked up the small talk.

‘It has, indeed,’ Edward replied as well-behaved as he could. ‘There was a spot of fire in the kitchen but we’ve sorted it out. It is as good as new. Better. We’ve installed running water on every floor now, even in the attics.’

‘Is that why you have imposed on Lord Alfred’s hospitality for so long?’ Mrs Drummond questioned.

‘Oh, it is not an imposition, ma’am,’ Alfred said courteously. ‘Your children have become wonderful friends of mine. I have known Drummond for years, from the court. Your daughter is as admirable as he. Besides, this house is far too big for me alone. Four of my brothers are in the military. I make five, though my post is only at the Palace, guarding Her Majesty. If it weren’t for these two, I would have kept this house as a sort of family hotel as it always has been. Indeed, my friends are most welcome to check in and out anytime.’

Alfred laughed his best and most winning laugh, but Mrs Drummond wasn’t joining in:

‘Do I understand that my daughter is living at a bachelor’s house where soldiers come and go as they please?’

Charlotte’s eyes bulged at Alfred in panic, begging him silently to say something to save face.

‘So far none of my brothers have called, let it be said.’

‘Your full brothers or half?’ Mr Drummond asked, pointing to the fact that Alfred is a child of previously divorced parents. Alfred ignored that.

‘I assure you this is a house of impeccable reputation. I am often gone for days on Her Majesty’s royal voyages and visits, and thus far none of my soldier brothers, full or half, have asked for a room here whilst Miss Drummond has been resident. If they did, I would be here. Besides, Drummond lives here, too. And so does Lady Hilda, and you cannot catch her and Miss Drummond without each other’s company even if you tried. _Which_ I do not,’ he added with a forced grin he did when in difficult company.

‘Precisely, Mama,’ Charlotte added, smiling innocently. ‘Hilda and I chaperone each other splendidly.’

‘I believe that. Too splendidly. All my friends are complaining of having to chaperone their daughters and their suitors. All but me! What about social engagements?’ Mrs Drummond lamented. ‘My friends tell me you hardly show for tea, Charlotte, and when you do, you hardly mingle. This will not do. You hair will grow but what girl has ever found a husband without socialising properly?’

‘Mama, don’t…’

‘Why don’t you host something yourself if you don’t like it at other houses? Such a grand house ought to be filled with guests. Yet neither I, nor any of my friends can remember a ball ever having been held in this _house of impeccable reputation_.’

‘Ah, I’m afraid that’s my fault,’ Alfred volunteered. ‘I am so engrossed in my courtly duties that I never notice when I neglect my friends on that front. I am up to the neck in tea parties and dances at the Palace, I forget others do not have my schedule. You are absolutely correct, Mrs Drummond, I must remedy that.’

‘What are you saying, Lord Alfred?’

‘Indeed, what are you saying?’ Charlotte asked with a threatening edge, and that was the edge of her shoe with which she kicked him under the table.

He swallowed a yelp. ‘There ought to be a ball in this house indeed,’ he declared. ‘Why not?’

‘What.’

‘What?!’ Drummond seconded.

‘What!’ Cecilia, too, forgetting about her fake accent foolishly. ‘I, uh, I mean to zay, excuse-moi, Lord Alfred, are you zaying wat I think you are zaying?’

‘I certainly am!’ Alfred grinned, knowing he earned Charlotte’s rage but to hell with it. They might as well, now that “Cecilia” was back in society. ‘I am giving a ball. For Miss Drummond! It should be well after my birthday – I wouldn’t want to steal her thunder – say, on the first of July? You are welcome to attend, Mr and Mrs Drummond. Expect the invite in a couple of days!’

As soon as the parents were gone, they all rounded on Alfred.

Well, Edward simply questioned the logistics of a ball in not two weeks’ time, whereas Charlotte grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall.

‘A ball? A BALL!?’ she demanded, completely berserk.

‘Why, yes, I don’t see the harm in it,’ Alfred said in his defence. ‘Cecilia’s been nagging me forever!’

‘AND!?’

‘Charlotte, stop assaulting Alfred and have a celebratory drink in the salon,’ Cecilia asked, chuffed to bits that there’s going to be a ball in this house at last. ‘And then we must plan! We have so many things to do – we have to invite people, we have to buy things…’

‘I will not host,’ Charlotte growled in Alfred’s face. ‘This was your idea, this is _your_ house.’

‘But it’s your ball,’ Alfred pointed out and earned a shove and a frustrated groan from her.

Edward pried her off Alfred.

‘She has a point,’ he said before taking Charlotte to a safe distance, even though she was clawing at Alfred’s collar still and cursing Edward’s physical strength. ‘When are we going to organise an entire ball? I normally spend all day at the House, and you at the court!’

‘You mistake me for an amateur!’ Alfred said, straightening his attire with dignity.

Cecilia caught his wink from the corner of his eye and she was positively bursting with happiness. She attacked Alfred with kisses on his cheek and ran after Charlotte, who had stormed away, to comfort her and, of course, begin planning the guest list.

‘I have to go back to the House. If Charlotte kills you, do not say I didn’t tell you so,’ Edward said, kissed Alfred goodbye, and swept out the door in a hurry back to Westminster.

*

Edward wished he had been back at the lunch table because what awaited him in Sir Robert’s office was more appalling than anything prior.

‘You cannot do this,’ he said before thinking.

‘Excuse me, Drummond?’ Sir Robert asked, looking up from his work.

‘I only meant… we have more pressing matters. The Navigation Acts…’

‘My word on the matter is not listened to. As a matter of fact, I have taken a leaf out of _your_ book as regards reason: I must better the country where I can.’

What Edward was staring at was a proposal for an amendment to the Offences Against the Person Act 1828, defining the crime of _attempted_ sodomy completing the already existing single and damningly clear paragraph that defined the death penalty for the act itself as it was. Sir Robert’s own doing, choosing to modernize the Tudor era act, unlike France with their new Napoleonic Code. Amendments, changes, and reforms were commonplace in those days. While Edward was largely proud of the world-changing progress Britain was making not only at home but the world over, there were dubious paragraphs everywhere. For example, the 1837 act repealed the death penalty for the actual crimes of stabbing, cutting, wounding, or shooting with intent as was the case of McNaughten against Drummond, even without the insanity precedence it created. Interesting that the punishments for those offences were being loosened, while what Sir Robert was proposing was a nonsensical tightening of the already draconian laws to combat… consensual sex? Edward thought about it more as _making love_ when he was with Alfred. And why did it have to focus on that one act when there were so many other things one could do with one’s lover?

‘But… Sir… with all due respect, according to your proposal, the… _crime_ essentially need not even be proven for a sentence to be imposed. Where’s the sense in that?’

‘The sense, young Drummond, is that as the law stands, there are far too many getting away with it. Let us not get into the distasteful details on how wrongdoing is proven. The point of the matter is that judges in this entire past decade have been too reluctant to sentence a single criminal because the punishment is too severe unless there is unequivocal evidence or confession…’

‘So lower the sentence.’

Sir Robert ignored him. ‘…both are notoriously difficult to attain,’ he added.

‘Surely, a lack of evidence means one is innocent. Innocent until proven guilty.’

‘Yes, but, for God’s sake, Drummond, many _obvious_ offenders regularly get away scot-free. There are all sorts of other signs of immorality – men wearing dresses made for women, and vice versa! You are too decent to know about these things, thank God, but this cannot go on, not under my watch. Therefore, with the new amendment, criminal intent would be counted.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Why, imprisonment, of course.’

‘How long?’

‘Ten to life, I should think. We must keep these degenerates well away from civilized society.’

Edward closed the dossier in his hands slowly, trying to understand, really trying. But there was little to understand about it at all, particularly as Sir Robert muttered something about distinguishing themselves from savages in the colonies and about God’s judgement and whatnot.

‘This is fodder for blackmail,’ Edward pointed out, surprised his voice was so calm and even authoritative. ‘I do not believe you mean to cause harm but you will, sir. Men could have their lives ruined just because an enemy or even a nasty neighbour or a greedy servant or whoever there is makes an accusation and the verdict depends on hearsay and one’s reputation in one’s circles.’

‘Well, then one should strive not to make enemies.’

‘Sir, this is unacceptable. You must see reason.’

Sir Robert abandoned his paperwork and looked up at Drummond darkly now.

‘If I didn’t know you better, Drummond, I’d say you are defending criminals.’

‘You do not know me at all,’ was Edward’s reply as he threw back the file on Sir Robert’s desk.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I mean if you think I can stand by and support you doing this. The Continent is inching towards revolutions, the Chartists are on the rise in Britain, the seas are ill-regulated, there is slavery in the States, which might bloodily split into two over this sooner or later, the Irish are still starving, there is cholera in the East End again, the workhouses are England’s newest disgrace, and you choose to use your influence… on this.’

Edward stormed right out unable to swallow any more of this.

*

Edward went straight home. Charlotte was still sulking about the ball. This suited him just fine.

‘What are you doing here so soon?’ she asked him dryly.

‘Nice to see you too, how are you, what was your afternoon like, oh, great, can’t complain, and yours?’ he quipped sarcastically, pouring himself a glass of scotch and downing it in once gulp.

‘You should be on stage with that flair for comedy.’

‘I find there are limits to my acting.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing. Where’s Cecilia?’

‘Downstairs, orchestrating her staff, planning the ball, being a menace on my life.’

‘Good. Care for a ride?’

Charlotte started at that but discarded her newspaper and joined her rather antsy brother for a horse ride in the park.

‘Good day for it, isn’t it?’ she chatted, ignoring people in the park who gasped and pointed at her unusual hair and attire, for she was wearing trousers. ‘Not like the Highlands. But I can still race you. Five pounds says—’

‘I don’t feel much like racing today.’

‘Rowing, then?’

‘What? Where?’

Charlotte pointed to some available rowing boats on the pond. Edward shrugged by way of agreement. They left the horses by a tree and raced on the river. Then, there was a race home, then a spot of fencing in the ballroom, then a cab ride on a whim and Edward finally tired himself out once he sailed out on the Thames on the yacht with her at sunset.

‘Beer?’ she said, offering him a dark, unlabelled bottle of ale.

His muscles were burning from the day’s activities so he gladly took it and she sat by him and, when he fumbled with his, she opened hers with a pocketknife and then his.

‘Thanks,’ he muttered, careful to wipe it off where a drop got on his trousers.

‘ _Can_ you drink from a bottle, Edward?’

He shot her a dark look. ‘I haven’t had beer since… well… we were fishing? Years ago?’

‘God, you’re a dandy.’

‘A dandy who beat you sixteen times at fencing today. At least it’s cold,’ he remarked, raising the bottle and downing half of it.

‘I got it from the club’s bar. They have an icebox. Even in this heat, can you imagine?’

Edward gave a noncommittal hum and enjoyed the evening breeze. This and the cold drink were heaven and the beads of sweat on his forehead started to dry.

‘Now, will you tell me why you chose to train for the Olympics instead of work today?’ she asked.

Edward knew Charlotte did it all for him because she knew him and knew that some physical exercise worked wonders on him. Other brothers would have shushed their sisters and assumed they were too unworldly or delicate to handle subjects such as this one. However, Edward never needed to shield Charlotte from the truth, so he told her what happened in the office and that he stormed right out.

‘There,’ he finished. ‘Feel free to throw me in the river. No doubt I’ve angered and worried you. In my defence, you weren’t there, you didn’t see the conviction in his eyes. He even wants to police one’s clothes and _thoughts_ , I feel, sooner or later!’

Charlotte loosened her tie uncomfortably and ran her hand down her short braid. They remained silent for a while. They drank and watched the sun disappear over the city in the distance and the evening get darker and darker.

‘Do you think all this will ever be the same for women? Truly,’ she asked, hoping not to sound too self-centred.

Edward considered that. ‘Honestly, who knows?’ he replied, sorry not to give her a better answer. ‘I believe it might get worse before it gets better.’

Though her throat felt tight, she downed the rest of her ale.

‘When is Alfred coming home tonight?’

‘Oh, late!’ he lamented, cracking up for some reason. ‘So very late!’

‘Such a dashed libertine, that man is!’ she declared, laughing along loudly. ‘Honestly, Cecilia’s always been a bit of a jester but her mischiefs have gotten far worse since he’s been around. All I want is a nice, private life and to be with her in peace. But what to do when she is not so peaceful by nature?’

‘Alfred never stops either.’

‘Hear, hear! How you keep up with him is a mystery to me. These two will be the death of me. And now I am to put on a frilly frock and give a ball!’

‘Please do not be so harsh on him. He’s doing it for her.’

‘I know. And it’s a good idea but do not tell him I said so. But I will not dance, not a single dance, do you understand? It’s all very well for Lord Alfred to Waltz the night away and God knows Cecilia is aching for a party but it is not my style. Don’t make a habit out of it.’

‘Can I at least count on you not to murder one another over this?’

She reluctantly promised him, took him home, and made sure he was in bed instead of working late in the library and beating himself up about things he couldn’t control.

Alfred, who had been to yet another high society ball across town, got in so late it was sort of dawning. He threw off his clothes and got into bed careful not to rouse Edward. He woke up very late, still reeking of champagne and his ears ringing from music and the chatter of hundreds. This was nothing new but what was is that he could also feel the mattress dipping next to him.

‘Edward?’ he murmured groggily. ‘You’re here! Is it wretchedly early?’

‘No, my love, it is past noon,’ Edward whispered to him sweetly.

‘Really?’ Alfred asked happily. When he opened his eyes, he saw Edward was only half-dressed for home. ‘But… the House… the debates… How come you are here?’

‘Would you prefer me not to?’

‘I would prefer you kissed me right this second!’

Edward grabbed Alfred’s wrist when he reached for him.

‘Uh-uh, I think I shall draw your lordship a bath first. I can tell the year of the cuvée you drank just from your breath.’

‘Ugh, do not talk about wine to me today!’ Alfred groaned and let Edward drag him out of bed. ‘But we did settle on the Duchess of Monmouth as the new lady of the bedchamber. She’s a little inexperienced but by God she’s beautiful and elegant and quite the opposite of her caddish husband, who by the way I learned through the grape wine that…’ he rambled on with fresh gossip, possibly still a little tipsy, on the way to the bathroom with Edward, who wasn’t all that attached to his own clothes either…

*

Sir Robert eyed the stylishly decorated invite in his hands. Miss Charlotte Drummond was giving a ball, leaving him alone in his study late at night debating whether he should go or not.

If he did not, his wife, Lady Peel would no doubt expect a proper explanation and it would be a tangible manifestation of a conflict between him and Drummond, like a declaration of war. On the other hand, if he went, he would have to apologise to the young man.

Was he too proud to do so? After all, they clashed on a topic of little significance to each of their lives. Drummond must have been overworked and lost his temper. It was, though not an excuse, a perfectly understandable explanation to his insolence and confusion over principles.

However, Sir Robert Peel couldn’t help but feel rather hurt. It felt personal, somehow. He attributed all this to the fact that he had always regarded Drummond as a kind of son. His children were doing remarkable work, wherever they went. Alas, indeed, one went farther and wider than others or what was good for him.

He walked over to the mantlepiece on which stood several miniatures and sketches, all portraits of his family. There was one miniature in the back row, purposefully hidden from plain view. This time, he took it off its shelf, blew off the dust of the past nearly four years, and observed the image of his third son, William.

The statesman cringed as he remembered the humiliating day when he had last seen his boy. William had caused him much grief over the years but nothing so tangible as that awful, graphic scene.

And yet, he never reported him. Oh, he meant to. Sir Robert had written a full letter of accusation, detailing everything the police force and the rear admiral needed to know to charge him. However, it landed on the fire – perhaps because after William’s sudden departure, there was hardly any point, or so he convinced himself at the time. Perhaps it was his selfish attempt at saving his own reputation as Prime Minister at the time.

Now, he wondered. Drummond’s words rang clearly in his ears. Why did it matter so very much? He could not turn a blind eye to sin, that was certain. But it was so long ago, perhaps William had changed since then? After all this, the father in him could not help but hope so. The boy was not without conscience or faith. He also had a tremendous love for England – he might be persuaded to return on the condition he refrained from his vices. Surely, there was hope that he would come around and return a decent, virtuous, Christian man. _If_ he was alive at all; since he was not abroad on active service at that moment, and letters had ceased long ago, who even knew?

Life was feeble, even that of young persons. Drummond could have been dead himself. Was he to hold this against him when it was a miracle he was still amongst the living?

The grandfather clock chimed thrice. It was a quarter to midnight. Sir Robert put down the painting, grabbed Miss Drummond’s invite, and decided to go upstairs. Since he could not go to the church to reflect on God’s intentions, he would leave it to Lady Peel, the wisest woman he knew when it came to social matters.

*

Fortunately, Alfred recovered from his illness by the time Charlotte’s ball rolled around. All day, he was sniggering behind her back with Cecilia. Clearly, they had some trick up their sleeves. It soon became apparent what it was.

Charlotte approached them after greeting all the incoming guests, who were spreading out between the salon full of libations and drinks served on silver trays and the ballroom that awaited its long-overdue laughter, chatter, and dancing.

‘Have you only invited women to this ball?’ she asked the mischievous pair who were smirking rather conspiratorially indeed.

‘Nonsense, there _are_ men,’ Lord Alfred replied mock-innocently.

‘ _Married_ men only,’ Charlotte pointed out. ‘Aside from you and Edward and you don’t count.’

‘First of all, I’m deeply hurt! And secondly, dear Miss Drummond, I thought it was the least I could do to remedy the awfully crude way in which I forced this ball upon you. I would get down on my knees but these are new pantaloons and it would be a shame to spoil them. Therefore, please accept this evening’s glamourous guests and the absence of their bachelor relatives as a sign of my begging your forgiveness.’

‘But isn’t it going to be absolute hell for you and Edward?’

‘“Going to?”’ Alfred asked, indicating the other corner of the room where Edward was surrounded by no less than six dewy-eyed women who just so _happened_ to be very intrigued by politics even though they could hardly name a single statesman other than the Prime Minister and Palmerston.

They had all followed the story of his heroic actions last year, though. Sensational column to even more sensational column.

Alfred rolled his eyes as one of the women pretended to literally faint at Drummond’s retelling of the assassination attempt, leaving out the gruesome bits and cutting it as short as possible. It was a traumatic memory to him but continued to impress all.

Lady Anglesey, who happened to pass, stepped over the girl, and told her to pull herself together.

‘Well, are you complaining, my love?’ Cecilia asked Charlotte, giggling behind a glass of champagne.

That was a definite no from Charlotte. Now, this prank was very much to her taste.

Mr and Mrs Drummond came up to them, so Cecilia remembered to play the role of Lady Hilda, though her dress resembling a pink meringue was an act enough in itself.

Despite this necessary disguise, the ball was a rather splendid affair. Lord Alfred’s circle of friends was indeed very fashionable and extremely elegant. Though Her Majesty was spending the weekend at Windsor, even the ladies of the bedchamber showed up. For once, Charlotte could freely say yes to dances and know that her partners had no ulterior motives to do with her hand in marriage or the sizeable dowry that would come with it. It was all just courtesies and conversations, and men could be relied upon to entertain heartier topics than fashion, making the experience a thousand times easier for her. On the other hand, she had never seen so many handsome women in one place, and they were not only pleasant on the eyes but also very brilliant, learned, and accomplished. Alfred truly spoiled her.

Edward, however, was not so pleased. After the dozenth dance with a marriageable lady, he used the precious moments between two dances just to seek out Charlotte and tell her to make the most of this night because he’d kill her afterwards. He could barely have a sip of champagne before the band struck a chord and a girl barely turned sixteen insisted on dragging him back to the marble dance floor under the brilliant overhanging chandeliers. Even Alfred barely caught a word with him all evening; he was on his feet constantly, if not in the most stylishly decorated ballroom, then entertaining the guests in other ways and making sure that the evening went well and without a hitch.

This plan of his seemed to be in jeopardy once he spotted a latecomer couple.

‘They came after all?’ Cecilia whispered to him, seeing his concern. (Hilda, to no one’s surprise, was so obnoxious a character that people began to avoid conversing with her so she found herself by his side often.)

Alfred shot her a look of worry. ‘I had quite given up on them.’

‘Were you relieved they didn’t come or are you relieved now that they have?’ Mrs Drummond walked by close, so she added more loudly: ‘Ja, ja, zis champagne ist exquisite, Lord Alfred!’

‘I am not sure yet,’ he pondered in hushed tones once safely out of earshot. ‘I must greet them. Wish me luck.’

‘You don’t need it. You were right to invite them,’ she said, patting his lower arm gently for courage.

Alfred crossed his fingers behind his back for luck, make no mistake, and approached Sir Robert and Lady Peel with his warmest smile.

‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ he said in his smoothest, velvetiest voice, bowing to him and kissing Lady Peel’s hand.

‘This is hardly humble, Lord Alfred,’ she quipped kindly and he thanked her. ‘Good to see you again.’

‘And you.’

‘How is Lady Anglesey?’

‘Mama? She never fails to remind me of the gardens at Dreyton at this time of the year.’

‘But isn’t Plas Newydd famous for its gardens?’

‘Oh, yes, but I assure you, she’s quite jealous. You can ask her – she’s here, must be in the salon somewhere.’

Lady Peel was swept off her feet. Alas, Sir Robert was not as good at small talk and he was clearly eager to spot someone.

‘Drummond is doubtless still on the dance floor,’ Lord Alfred volunteered, taking them through the salon and towards the vast ballroom. ‘If you are looking for him, sir.’

‘He might not be very thrilled to see me,’ Sir Robert admitted.

‘Nonsense!’ Alfred replied courteously. ‘I believe he would give anything for a solid excuse to refuse another partner. Like yourself, sir, he is far too serious to be dazzled by such frivolities as a Polka but he is too polite to say no until he absolutely must. Forgive him. He means well, you know his character.’

‘Is that meant to be double-talk about our argument, Lord Alfred?’

‘What argument?’ Alfred pretended. ‘Oh, excuse me, I see my friend Lady Hilda is without a partner. We can’t have that! Enjoy the house, Sir Robert, Lady Peel.’

And Alfred left them to it. On his way to Cecilia, he caught Edward’s eye to warn him of Sir Robert’s presence. Edward forgot his step and excused himself to seek out Alfred.

‘What’s Sir Robert doing here?’ he asked anxiously.

Alfred handed him a cold glass of champagne to help him catch his breath.

‘I invited him,’ he replied as well, coming clean calmly. ‘And he has come. I believe this means he wants to make amends. The quadrille is next. Perhaps this would be a good time to ask Lady Peel?’

Edward was very conflicted. He hadn’t spoken to Sir Robert since he had stormed out of his office over that most sensitive argument. He was sure, however, of Alfred’s wisdom in social matters. He, who practically lived in ballrooms and throne rooms, could be trusted to give sound advice on what to do. Therefore, Edward evaded more hopeful ladies wishing to fill their dance cards with his name and approached the Peels.

‘Good evening, Sir Robert. Lady Peel, thank you for blessing this ball with your presence. My sister shall be delighted to make your acquaintance at long last.’

‘I shall be delighted to make hers, too,’ she replied kindly. ‘And congratulate her. She has given a wondrous evening, it is plain to see. Such a splendid house as well.’

‘It is. Not mine, alas. I believe you know Lord Alfred Paget?’

‘I do, of course, I do.’

‘I suppose everyone does!’ Edward quipped, diverting from the fact he meant they must know each other through William. Perhaps he was not as good at acting because he made the mistake of making eye contact with Sir Robert.

‘Drummond,’ Sir Robert said curtly and nodded by way of a greeting.

‘Thank you for coming, Sir Robert,’ Edward replied, overcoming his hurt and anger at least on the surface.

In the past days whilst Edward enjoyed a little sabbatical, Alfred fretted endlessly about it all once learned of the argument. He nudged and pushed and pleaded for Edward to ride to Sir Robert’s and apologise and, if need be, support him in this blasted new law, not like it made any difference. Edward could not do that. His morals simply did not agree with it in the slightest. He had to draw the line somewhere. He had endured the scandal of the Corn Laws, hell, a bullet in the ribs, then Sir Robert’s endless political ramblings and even personal insults about the Pagets and about men who happened to love other men. Enough was enough. He even told Alfred he began to understand why Captain William Peel had simply up and left, with this most unforgiving man as a father. Upon this, Alfred reminded him he barely knew the base facts and withdrew until Edward apologised. Alfred taught him a lesson on forgiveness that day. However, and this was Alfred’s brilliance, forgiveness could be forged in everyone in the right place and at the right time, even Sir Robert.

‘Thank you for inviting me. It is my honour to be on the guest list,’ Sir Robert said, sure enough, offering an olive branch figuratively, and his hand literally.

Edward understood the gesture and shook it. It was a great relief indeed. Then, he turned to her:

‘Lady Peel, would you do me the honour of the next dance? I hear you are partial to the quadrille.’

Alfred watched this exchange from the corner of his eyes and heaved a sigh of relief.

‘Thank God!’

‘Are you even listening to me, Alfred?’ Cecilia asked.

She had evidently been talking about something completely different all the while, none of which he had taken in.

‘I am horribly, horribly sorry,’ Alfred said, bowing to her for good measure.

‘You should be because I’ll have your head for this. Look, there she is again.’

‘Who?’

‘Charlotte, flirting, with another splendid, beautiful, elegant woman!’ she spelled it out for him, pointing to her lover who was indeed engrossed in very close conversation with Lady Portman and her eyes turned yet brighter when the Duchess of Sutherland joined them. ‘And here I am, as ridiculous little “Hilda”, in this ugly dress, ugh! Why did I let you do this?’

‘You consented to the guest list,’ he said in his defence.

‘I had no idea half the women you suggested were goddesses!’

‘So they are?’

‘You don’t know, do you? Charlotte can be a massive flirt. I only meant to spare her from odious suitors tonight, not hand her a harem on a silver platter.’

‘She loves you.’

‘But…’

‘Weren’t you the one worried she was becoming a tad possessive?’ Alfred pointed out and she had no reasonable comeback. ‘Let her dance and talk and flirt. Who cares as long as at the end of the day it is you that has her heart and shares her bed and her life?’

‘Would you say the same if Edward flirted with a dozen handsome men?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ he mused cheekily. ‘It would never happen. Edward doesn’t recognise flirting when it’s splashing water in his face stark naked in a French pond, while its other hand is underwater grabbing his thigh closer and closer to his…’

‘Yes, I know, I read his diary,’ Cecilia said by way of shutting him up. ‘God, you’re lucky.’

Edward delivered Lady Peel back to Sir Robert after the quadrille. After a little more talk, they were discussing politics again and it was too boring or too unbefitting a party, thus Edward suggested they had a cigar in the library.

His desk was strewn with papers from writing earlier, which he tried to tidy up but only superficially. It provided a good excuse to pick up their work where they left it off.

It was heaven. They sat and talked about nothing but the Navigation Acts for nearly twenty minutes, which was enough for their absence to be detected.

It was Cecilia who popped in, rather vexed.

‘Mr Drummonde please,’ she said, barely in keeping with Hilda’s character. ‘Your sister ist needing you. So swarmed she ist with the ladies of the court.’

‘I shall be there in a minute,’ Edward said to try and weasel out of it.

‘Zis ist urgent,’ she said pointedly and his confliction was apparent.

Sir Robert laughed. ‘You really cannot say no. Nor should you. The lady is waiting, Drummond,’ he advised.

Edward bit back a frustrated sigh. ‘I shall be right back, sir,’ he said and followed Cecilia to the ballroom against his wishes.

Charlotte was not pleased when her brother was sent to fetch her away from the most glorious chat with the stunningly beautiful and gentle-natured Duchess of Monmouth. He had to mediate between her and Cecilia while they had a row about this in the garden. The ladies clashed about jealousy more tempestuously as the Tories and the Whigs on sea trade.

In the library, Sir Robert stayed and smoked the last of his cigar. When a pinch of ash fell on his evening clothes, he realised there was no ashtray around. He looked for one before he made a mess of himself or of Drummond’s library, worse, lest he made a fire in there, searching hastily on the shelves and in desperation in the drawers of the desk.

He was right to worry – so short was his cigar becoming that he dropped it on the mass of papers, which caught on fire, spreading quite quickly. He grabbed the nearest book, a notebook in the bottom drawer, to pat it down and, in the end, it was all he could do to extinguish it with some water in the bottom of a vase.

Sir Robert’s heart sank – surely, he just nearly destroyed a valuable collection of letters or notes on Edward’s prized research, about which he was so enthusiastic. When he wiped the water off a dirtied page of the book to remedy the damage, he caught his own name.

“ _Talks with Sir Robert on the relief all day. Whigs unrelenting, Her Majesty remains inactive on the matter. The day took a turn for the better, then worse when I was dispatched to the Palace._ ”

Ah, surely, these are Drummond’s notes about politics. He has missed Drummond’s sound advice in the past week. He could use his reflections on the Irish, who were still without proper support. He read on.

“ _As I hoped, I ran into Lord A. I walked away feeling most curiously. He made himself quite clear, saying “The Irish are starving” to which I responded, “Then the queen should reach into her own purse”. I am ashamed now, but I was driven by vexation at Florence of late. How could she insist we set a date in the middle of the session? I cursed her ignorance of the simplest ways of the real world, such as when Parliament sits, on her sex. But then it has become clear to me that a whole lifetime would not be enough to convince me I want to marry her, or any woman. I nearly said so, too, to Lord A, but bit back my words. He is too good to say so, but I know he does not like to hear about her. He is also too good to say anything against her or the match, though I know it must kill him almost as much as it does me. Oh, if I could throw my life away for him! Against myself, I walked away with a goodbye I intended half-final. If only I could keep my words—”_

Sir Robert dropped the book on the desk still open.

He could not believe his eyes. These were not purely political writings, this was… surely, no, he must have misunderstood something. Drummond had a proclivity to colour the simplest emotions with a dramatic flair. God knew a collegial and personal clash, such as the one between him and Drummond just in the days past, was felt with passionate unease on his part. Thinking he would put his mind at ease, he turned some twenty pages and read a random passage.

“ _Heavenly, heavenly, heavenly. I was not home at all last night. Missed riding with Sir R for nothing could convince me to leave bed early, not when I shared it with my love. The vote on the Corn Laws is bound to happen to-day so I shall write in better detail later – perhaps I shall leave it another day as we are to dine with Lord Anglesey later. Be still, my heart, I say inwardly, though it yearns to sing! Alfred is mine, and I am his.”_

Sir Robert’s hand that held down the page started shaking. He even felt a ringing in his ears. These words, these names. This very house! The realisation overwhelmed him more than anything before. Even more than…

“… _called William. How odd that I should have saved the life of the man who wants to see men like my angel hanged? A told me all, whilst I was too weak to open my eyes, thinking I could not hear. He once loved Sir R’s son. The ache of jealousy is worse than of the hollow of the bullet that was lodged in my body! Does he miss him? Would he have ever loved me if the Captain had not been driven to voluntary exile by his own father? My only comfort is that it seems to me that whatever the Captain felt for my beloved A was not love exactly.”_

There were some fifty more pages. Sir Robert found the most recent ones, though he could scarcely read from boiling anger.

“… _lay apparently asleep but caught A kiss his birthday present goodnight before getting in. Thought he woke me but I said no. There was no need to kiss the locket when I am here. So tired from courtly duties he fell asleep at once whilst his lips were still pressed against mine, I watching until so did I, mindful of the ball next evening—"_

Footsteps sounded and Sir Robert jumped, though his legs were rooted to the spot.

‘… terribly sorry about this, sir, my sister found herself in a spot of womanly quarrel – jealousy can cloud one’s judgement, can it not? – but it’s all sorted now,’ Edward rambled on cheerily, eager to forget about the ladies and return to politics. ‘Sir Robert?’

The MP remained unmoving, watching Drummond with such a strange, stony expression. Edward knew this look. He had never been on the receiving end of it for long. However, the moments stretched between them and he forgot all about the speech. That look. It sent ice down one’s veins. It reeked of complete and absolute contempt that came from within, in contrast with the statesman’s decorum.

‘S-Sir Robert?’

Edward’s eyes wandered to the top of his desk, where he was aghast to see his familiar, small, green, leather-bound book wide open. He went pale as soon as he recognised it. It was his own diary, which he was certain he had locked well away into the bottom drawer, well away from anyone but those who pried.

‘How did you find that, sir?’

It was futile to ask this. They both knew it mattered little even if there was prying involved. Just as it was futile to delve into colourful excuses and explanations. It was written all over Sir Robert’s deeply disappointed face that he had read it or read enough.

Edward had never been too explicit, even to his own journal, but every page would tell the most naïve and unworldly of readers just how much he adored and loved Lord Alfred Paget. And Sir Robert was neither. What he was is shaking with barely repressed fury and disgust. That tiniest of sparks towards forgiveness of his own son, and Drummond, was blown out by fresh dread and shock. It was one thing to put something out of his mind with which he rarely came into contact. Alas, he was reliving it all and felt clearly again that tolerance was impossible.

His face was contorting with an attempt to speak but he was beyond reproach. He made towards the door decisively.

‘Sir Robert,’ Edward stepped into his way, knowing if he let him go, it was all over.

‘Never… I _never_ want to see you again, Drummond,’ Sir Robert uttered with difficulty, unable to meet his eyes.

‘Please, now, just a minute—’

‘GET OUT OF MY WAY,’ the older man barked. ‘I cannot remain for one more second in this… this house…’

Edward could hardly tackle Sir Robert Peel to the ground, and if he kept on shouting the guests would be privy to this also, so he let him past him.

Lord Alfred, who had been chatting away happily with his mother and father, spotted the former PM’s coppery curls and frown of displeasure through the crowd as he streaked through it, collecting Lady Peel in the process, much to her surprise.

Edward appeared in his wake, dashing across the salon and disappearing to the foyer as well, equally if not more troubled.

He followed Sir Robert all the way to the front entrance, where the older man quickly gathered his hat and coat and grabbed the door firmly, itching to escape, though not before turning back to Drummond once more.

‘This is the worst possible thing that could ever happen to me.’

‘Please, Sir Robert, we can discuss this…’

‘There is nothing to discuss.’

A cab just happened to pass by despite the late hour. Edward had to watch Sir Robert get in and ride away.

He remained on the doorstep, unsure what to do. It all seemed unreal, like it was happening to someone else and he was merely a bystander watching it unfold. He understood now what Alfred had meant. The Duchess of Buccleuch’s threats seemed feeble in comparison to the magnitude of this mistake.

The grandfather clock struck midnight as if signalling his demise. It was now or never. His heart said he ought to run back to the salon and alert Alfred right away. But how could he when Alfred was the life of the party? Luckily, another cab approached. He wasted no time to get in and tell the chauffeur to follow Sir Robert’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the diary passages were difficult to read - I tried to give the impression of Anne Lister's entries, which are hazy to say the least, but possible to follow once you get the hang of it.
> 
> Laws referenced: France - civil code 1804; England - Buggery Act 1533, Offences Against the Person Act 1828, 1837, and the proposal was to become reality in 1861. Sucks, right? Any TV exec would say Bury Your Gays but the medallion says that's dumb so we're not gonna do that.
> 
> We're not fucking doing that.


	30. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens now that Sir Robert knows?

It was nearly four in the morning by the time Edward returned. He was drenched to the bone and shivering – from the shower or the nerves, he didn’t know anymore.

All the guests had been long gone from Alfred’s house. They left behind a trace of glasses everywhere, crinkled cushions, the faint scent of cigars, and the ghosts of laughter to echo in the house that was dark and hollow once again.

Without thinking, he followed the light coming from the salon, where Alfred had been alternating between drinking leftover champagne on the wine-stained couch and smoking while pacing up and down the equally wine-stained carpet ever since the last of the guests had gone and left him alone with his worries and calculations about what Sir Robert’s abrupt departure had meant and why Edward simply disappeared for hours, abandoning his own sister’s ball. He must have had a good reason, after all, to do such an irregular thing. Or a really, really, _really_ bad one.

Alfred was therefore immensely relieved when he heard the front door, but he stopped in his tracks at the sight of his love in the doorway. Edward looked defeated and stunned. His complexion was ghostly pale. His eyes met Alfred’s, whose worst fears were confirmed by this simple yet telling sight. He needed to ask no questions to guess what had transpired.

He held out his arm for Edward to come to him.

Edward did and, nearly keeling over, kissed his love’s hand and wrist and arm and crumbled at his feet both for forgiveness and comfort. They both did, settling on the couch together, curled up into each other, Alfred rocking and shushing Edward while he wept and apologised, kissing his hair to calm him, warm him, though his own chest was aching with cold, hollow dread. Though he his mind had explored a thousand ghastly possibilities, he was quite unable to comprehend the weight and seriousness of this threat if it was to be called only that.

This was beyond a threat. This was an emergency. He tried to make out Edward’s barely intelligible stammer through sobs:

‘I was at… his house… he went home…’

‘Home?’ Alfred asked, relieved just a little. He supposed Sir Robert needed to withdraw to plan what to do, or to compose a damning letter to send the dogs on their little Eden any minute now. They were sitting ducks in this house, in this city. A knock on the door could come any minute.

‘Y-yes, I s-s-stayed… lookout… had to make sure… you were… party… talking… guests… he… my diary…’

‘That blasted diary,’ Alfred sighed, with a chuckle, despite their just, shared panic.

‘I had locked it… away… drawer… he couldn’t have… he _couldn’t_ have! But he did! C-c-caught fire so…’

‘Fire?’

‘His cigar – my letters – but he _had_ to pry, he didn’t trust—I don’t _know_ how but... it m-matters not. There, he saw, he read it.’ Edward struggled, unable to remember exactly how that night of relief and forgiveness turned into the exact opposite in the flash of a second. ‘He s-said: this is the worst thing that could h-h-happen… Oh, Alfred, but it is! H-how will we—wh-what can we do? I f-f-fear he’s not going to relent… not g-g-oing to be thwarted or silenced…’

‘No, indeed,’ Alfred agreed sadly. ‘Somehow I do not believe Sir Robert is about to drop dead from a heart attack momentarily.’

Edward wiped his nose on the corner of a blanket – Alfred was wrapping it around his shoulders for warmth since he was still shaking so.

‘I g-got you all wet…’ Edward apologised.

‘No matter, no matter, my love.’

Alfred brushed away some cards strewn over the coffee table to make space for Edward to sit on something other than the floor. He rubbed his nose against Edward’s and kissed his love warmly and soothingly, finding in himself to be strong for Edward’s sake. It was uncanny, such unhappiness in the midst of upturned glasses, furniture askew from rounds of charades, ashtrays, lost jewellery, playing cards, and all other remnants of the happy times these walls had seen.

‘Oh, my love, my only love… thank you,’ Alfred spoke sweetly to Edward, thinking he should while he could.

‘Th-thank me? I ruined everything.’

Alfred had to smile. Trust Edward to be as dramatic as possible.

‘You did nothing of the sort. We’ve always known the risk.’

‘You should be shouting at me.’

‘No. I don’t want to. I want to thank you. For everything.’

Edward started at that, locking eyes with his love.

‘God, no…’ he said, his voice stifling horribly into a sob. Alfred sounded like he was saying goodbye. A final goodbye. Like preparing for death.

So this really was that serious.

‘I mean it,’ Alfred smiled at him bravely.

‘Please, no…’

‘I love you. Remember that.’

‘Alfred…’

‘Always.’

‘If I hadn’t… Alfred… I’d die twice so that you wouldn’t—’

‘You have given me twice the life I lived as it is.’

‘But what if you…?’

‘Do not worry about me. I had an enviable time,’ Alfred said, glancing around at the happy ruins around them. ‘How lucky I have been! I have seen so much and tasted so many delights of life, most of all your love. I could not have lived a happier life. My happiness has been such that it has made me quite forget how impossibly long we have managed to last.’

‘Not a year!’

‘A year worth more than a thousand spent alone and lonely, so yes, I am thankful. I am glad of it. I am glad of you. And I am glad of this wondrous evening that you have given me. I have been to many balls – God knows! not just this season – but never one so rife with such tremendous love and excitement among friends and family. Even Charlotte and Cecilia overcame their moment of jealousy and retired as soon as the guests were gone!’ Alfred chuckled. ‘If it was to be our last, how lucky we were to end on this note!’

Edward stared up at Alfred through tears. He had never heard anything more bittersweet.

‘My only regret is that I never got to dance with you,’ Alfred added.

Well, that could be remedied.

Though there was a chance that they would be raided any second, slowly, relying on Alfred’s support and love, Edward dried his tears, or almost all, and they rose on their feet and walked hand in hand to the empty, echoing ballroom that no longer glistened with candles or diamonds. They embraced sweetly in the dark, knowing every curve of each other’s body better than their own, and swayed slowly in a tender dance among the ruins and ashes of joy.

The first rays of sunrise found them just when they felt as if they could hide under the cover of the night forever. Alfred and Edward both kept their eyes shut to pretend just for a little longer that the morning was not there yet, with its harsh reality and certain doom. Alas, all too rapidly, the tall windows of the ballroom soon turned bright yellow and white, chasing away the last of the happy ghosts with their penetrating, interrogative force, breathing weight into the men’s bodies lest they imagined for too long they could become ghosts themselves and hide away. Soon, the knocker-uppers would make their rounds, workers would flock to the factories, newsboys would rouse households, shops would open, and the world would keep turning, for the better for some, for the worse for others.

They quickly devised what they would no next. They still had some options, abrupt and drastic as they all were. It fell on Alfred to alert the valets (whom he awkwardly found sleeping in one bedroom on a shared bed made of two singles pushed together), while Edward woke and explained it all to Charlotte and Cecilia.

The ladies were devastated but very brave, deciding without hesitation and against Edward’s wishes to stay in London so as to take care of the house and send their things after the men when it was safe, if it ever would be.

Alfred and the valets, who equally bravely decided to stick by the gentlemen, packed as many things as they could, and loaded them on the yacht, while Edward took care of all the necessary paperwork so as to allow his sister access to his funds, half of which he flat out granted her unconditionally and independently against her adamant protests. Even if he was gone forever, the sum was such that she would never have to worry about anything, be it marriage or whether or not to get a new silk tie or not.

Alfred wrote two letters to his parents to be delivered by Charlotte, one in the event they managed to escape freely, one in the event they did not. He felt as if he was already writing from the dead.

She also promised to burn that bloody diary.

It was nearly seven o’clock by the time they tied up as many loose ends as they could under the circumstances. Edward nearly broke down again at this hour because it was to be the moment that may just be his last with Alfred. He was dressed in his riding clothes, all ready to go but still, he could not let go of Alfred, alternating between sheer madness and desperate kisses and vicious determination in the foyer. He cared not for the anxious and perhaps pitying looks of his servants or the ladies, who were the unwilling onlookers of this wretchedly sad scene.

‘Come to the docks with me now, you don’t have to do this,’ Alfred still pleaded against Edward’s lips, though he knew there was no swaying him once he had made his mind up.

‘I must try,’ Edward insisted, perhaps still trying to convince himself more than Alfred. ‘I would despise myself for the rest of my days if I did not.’

‘Are you certain he shall be in the park? It’s still raining.’

‘Barely now. And yes, rest assured. It’s Thursday, he begins the day with a ride like clockwork, always the same time, always the same path. I must attempt just once more to reason with him.’

‘Are you _sure_ you don’t want me to come?’

‘Surer than sure. It’s best you get to safety, Alfred, _my Alfred_... I’d rather you sailed away alone than wait for me.’

‘I shall do no such thing.’

‘But wait on the yacht.’

‘Very well, but if he does not agree, if he shows even the slightest sign of vengeance, you turn your back on him and London and ride straight to the docks, do you understand? I don’t want you playing the hero. There is no stopping some bullets and living to tell the tale. I want to see you again, that’s all that matters, I just want you!’

Alfred nearly lost it, too. He did not want to lose Edward. Anything else, take his house, take his name, his own life but spare Edward! There would be no need for any punishment after that, for nothing could be worse than how much it would break his heart. He would welcome the noose if anything happened to his love.

‘I will, I promise,’ Edward said finally, and, most painfully, departed from Alfred.

Immediately, it felt like the prolonged version of the sinking feeling in one’s stomach when skipping a stair by accident. Relishing in the feel of his lips just once more, and just once more, somehow he tore himself away from Alfred, got on his horse and attempted to catch Sir Robert on his ride in St James’.

Though he had made sure that Sir Robert spent the whole night home by staying outside his townhouse, he could only hope he would not begin his day with a detour to the police rather than his usual ride. It was, therefore, with immense relief when Edward spotted him on his horse just as hoped.

He tugged on the harness firmly and rode with haste to Sir Robert, who tried to flee but his horse was not used to sudden changes of plan and, being familiar with Drummond, had no reason to want to escape.

‘Sir Robert—’ Edward began, seizing his chance.

‘Out of my sight, Drummond,’ Sir Robert immediately grumbled.

‘Please, let me just—’

‘I made myself clear last night.’

‘I only mean to—’

‘I have come out here to think, not to…’

‘Please, may I just explain—’

‘There is nothing to explain. " _Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination_ ,” Leviticus 18:22.’

‘“ _Your love to me was wonderful, Surpassing the love of women_ ,” David to Jonathan, 2 Samuel 1:26,’ Edward replied without missing a beat. How could he forget the quote etched in his and Alfred’s lockets? He was endlessly thankful for Miss Coke to have found it for them, not even knowing how much she had armed and empowered him for this day. ‘We can quote the Bible all day, if you like, sir, still it makes no difference. Listen to reason if not me—’

Sir Robert’s face went yet more purple.

‘I do not wish to listen to your “reason”, I do not wish to listen to you, I do not wish to even see you, least of all be seen with you,’ Sir Robert grumbled, purple in the face and aware of dozens of people on an early promenade in the park. ‘As I said, this is _the_ worst possible thing I can imagine learning about any man, let alone someone I once thought a friend.’

‘Worse than finding out your son was no different?’ Drummond said before he was interrupted again, instantly kicking himself. His grave was dug, and now he made it ten times deeper.

‘Your madness is speaking from you.’

‘Love is.’

‘YOU OUGHT TO BE HORSEWHIPPED,’ Sir Robert burst out harshly, startling even Edward’s horse for a second. ‘Lord Alfred, too, especially him, Her Majesty’s right-hand man! I would do it myself! To think there are children in the Palace!’

‘You _know_ me, sir. You know Lord Alfred. Surely, your preconceived notions do not taint our character but quite the reverse, we are proof as your _friends_ that men of that sort are not deranged, harmful, or Godless, or any other slanderous idea you’ve been led to imagine.’

‘How dare you—’

‘I had to unlearn lies I’ve told myself, also! I was just as ignorant as you…’

‘Ha! I see. I see you were. Hard-working, sound, engaged to be married. And then Paget infected you with his sin.’

Edward picked up on something odd in Sir Robert’s tone there and realised immediately what that meant.

‘You _know_ he and your son had been lovers,’ he stated, knowing he was correct. ‘And you think Lord Alfred led your son into temptation,’ Edward nearly laughed. ‘Well, I have never met Captain Peel but my understanding of it is _quite_ different. Regardless, you just want to punish us because you missed the chance against your own son.’

‘I suggest you cease discussing the very topic, Drummond,’ Sir Robert threatened, shaking from fury.

‘Just tell me, then, have you reported us already?’ Edward asked.

‘Saving your own skin, are you? Well, I have not. For Lady Peel’s sake, not your own – I did not wish to alarm her by doing business by night, she mustn’t know the first thing about it. However, my first order of business today ought to be to take action, be under no other impression.’

‘I thought you owed me, sir. Or have you forgotten?’

Sir Robert’s horse grew uneasy. Its owner tried to control it and heaved a heavy sigh before turning to Drummond, every word a struggle to utter against his best convictions:

‘As it happens, after careful deliberation throughout this past night, against every fibre of my conscience, I have decided to spare you, Drummond, since, as you said, I owe my life to you.’

Edward foolishly dared to hope. ‘So you will _not_ report us?’ he asked.

‘Not you, no,’ Sir Robert clarified. ‘I cannot say the same about Lord Alfred. Justice must be obeyed.’

‘What do you mean?’ Edward asked, hope replaced by instant panic.

‘Just what I say.’

‘What, what have you done!?’

‘Nothing yet. But I must report him. It is my duty as a citizen and a person of sound morals. You’ll not make an accomplice out of me, neither to sin nor to crime. Unfortunately, Lord Alfred is _the_ Chief Equerry to the Crown and as such, his immediate supervisor is Her Majesty, who is out of town until tomorrow.’

‘Have you written to her?’

‘For God’s sakes, how could I possibly speak about the subject in proper detail face to face with _the Queen_!? You are more debauched than I thought! You may think it appropriate to address me about that which you have composed an entire book’s worth of smutty writing but such unnatural sentiments are an unspeakable topic for Her Majesty, as well as, if you’ve forgotten, for us decent, Christian Englishmen.’

‘I am Scottish,’ Edward muttered with defiant pride. He shouldn’t have but hardly mattered anymore whether he was respectful or not. He would have to ride to the docks, that was clear.

‘Ah, enough of you, boy. I cannot keep in touch with you any longer,’ Sir Robert spat, still more frustrated and trying to convince his horse to turn.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To find the least disturbing way in which I can inform Her Majesty about the unthinkable immorality of the man she has let into her daily life for far too long. I warned her against the Pagets, I did, but she would only listen to Melbourne. I had no idea that the worst of the worst of them rose to such high ranks, dining at Her Majesty’s table every day. It is the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard. This shall not be tolerated for a day longer. This is the scandal of the century.’

Edward meant to defend Alfred’s honour but Sir Robert yanked the harness more firmly now and his horse obeyed him out of agitation at last.

‘ _Never_ seek me out again, Drummond. I strongly advise you to watch your step beyond this moment. In fact, if you want to live out your natural life, I suggest you never even return to the House or stay in London – let this conversation be understood as your resignation, and your absence and withdrawal from society your punishment. Let it be enough that, against my principles and faith, I am turning a blind eye on your sin this time. _This time_ and no more. God help your soul. I pray you can repent, and with time perhaps even marry and make a decent life for yourself. So, I will spare you to pay my debt. But I warn you, if you attempt to defend Lord Alfred, I shall not keep to this promise either.’

‘You mean to say I am to choose between you and Alfred?’ Edward asked, nearly laughing at the very assumption that he would have to even think about his choice. He held his head high. ‘Then this is indeed goodbye, sir, and you are welcome to report me as well. I do not think you need to wait for the police to return from Windsor. Go on. Do it. It matters not, for my life would be over the second Alfred’s was.’

Sir Robert huffed indignantly and kicked his horse to ride away in the opposite direction, galloping away from this waste of a man faster than he usually rode, much faster for his rage was blinding him. So was his exhaustion – he had stayed up, turning and tossing all night, unable to cease thoughts about William, Drummond, and Lord Alfred…

…who was suddenly in front of him, blocking the wet gravel path with his own self and steed. Sir Robert’s horse was startled into coming so a sudden halt, conflicted between the obstacle in his way and the urgency with which his rider was tugging the choking harnesses this way and that.

‘OUT OF MY WAY, PAGET!’ Sir Robert bellowed furiously. He was aware of more passers-by who would surely remember seeing him with Lord Alfred, who was about to be the disgrace of civilised society, if he could help it.

‘I cannot let you do this, sir,’ Alfred replied firmly, keeping his own horse under control and every fibre and sinew in his own body was tense with determination not to let this go without a fight.

Edward spotted Alfred from a distance – of course, he did not get on the yacht to wait for him as he promised. He begged his horse would get there before anything worse happened to his love.

‘William is gone,’ Alfred said to Sir Robert seriously. ‘Let this go and make peace with it.’

‘You—dare—’

‘Drummond is not your son.’

‘I know what he is, he’s—’

‘The brightest man in Britain today. He’s going to make a difference in the world – _good_ difference. Damn me, ruin me, not him.’

Just then, Edward arrived on the scene, stopping a little way away with dread at learning Alfred was bargaining for his sake. But his dread was surpassed by that of Sir Robert, who now felt trapped and madly eager to escape these men’s presence and the ill-repute that would follow his own self.

‘OUT of my WAY!’ he bellowed, struggling with his horse, whose hooves were splashing in puddles on the path, until he had enough and gave it a good kick in the side and forced it to charge against Lord Alfred despite all logic.

The horse was startled into doing just that, dead set on running at Alfred, whose horse responded quickly by raising himself on his hind legs to fend off what it thought was an attack. In response to this, Sir Robert’s horse did the same, except its own rider was unused to such stunts and so fell off the saddle, on the rough gravel, with a loud thump. Edward from a safe distance, and Alfred, who remained in his saddle despite his frightened horse, both witnessed this most rapid succession of unfortunate events whereby Sir Robert moved once on the ground but did get up in time before his still raving horse slipped in his own fright on the wet gravel and crumpled on a twisted ankle right on top of Sir Robert.

A loud crack could be heard, and the man moved no more.

All this happened before Alfred’s steed’s front hooves had even touched ground again. Once they did, he jumped off the saddle at once to free Sir Robert’s body from under the weight of the wretched, old horse and examine him.

Alas, there was nothing to examine. Sir Robert was quite dead, and Alfred’s vision became hazy with quick panic.

Edward was there the next second, attempting to calm the injured horse, using all the bodily strength he had, before kneeling on the gravel too, mirroring Alfred’s shock.

Alfred registered voices around him, those of the two dozen passers-by who had witnessed this from a distance and now gathered around the horrible site – an accident, they said, and that the horse would need to be shot, and that this man was known, and he was none other than Sir Robert Peel, and how horrible it was, this accident, an accident, an _accident_ …

That night, Alfred sat on the chaise in his suite at home quite unmoving. He wasn’t even smoking. He was in shock. He had had such a great presence of mind whenever the Queen was attacked and he charged after gunmen without a care for his own safety. He kept it together also when Edward nearly died from that bullet. He was even able to get over the sad sight of the Duchess of Buccleuch collapsing in front of his very eyes.

However, after repeating his account of the accident (leaving out the cause or even existence of an argument) to the police constables, to the inspector, (after a ride to and from Windsor) to Prince Albert and Her Majesty, to the ladies of the bedchamber, to the second equerry, then to the valets at home, to his father when he came to him knowing there was more to it and swearing all over the library where Edward’s singed letters were still strewn over the desk, to Lady Peel in a letter of condolences, and finally to Charlotte and Cecilia in greater detail than to all others, he retreated to his suite and sat. Just sat.

An accident. An accident. The voices of promenaders in the park still rang in his ears. So did Edward’s voice saying the same, and his own words as he repeated it to all those people, enough times that perhaps he started to believe it, too. It was an accident. It _was_ an accident, because if it wasn’t…

He gripped the armrest to steady his hand.

Somebody else had to shoot the broken-legged horse. He couldn’t, feeling there had been enough blood on his hands.

He said he hoped he would be prepared to protect Edward, even if… but he did not imagine that moment to come so tangibly, nor for it to involve Sir Robert Peel, of all people.

Sir Robert. Dead.

On top of his own actions and whether he was guilty of intent – he could not be certain, it all happened so fast - he had difficulty wrapping his head around a world without Sir Robert. And who was he to Alfred? No one yet someone who so greatly defined so much of the course of Alfred’s life and happiness.

And from there, it wasn’t long before he thought:

_Should he try to find him? Write to him? To at least wire? Surely if anyone knew where he was, they’d have done that by now._

He had heard Edward arrive home a while ago – no doubt, he was also talking to Charlotte and Cecilia and perhaps the valets about the shocking events of the day, which had doubtlessly spread around London and would devastate the entire city, indeed, the entire country, and beyond. Students and scholars would learn about this most influential man’s demise and not have a clue that it was brought about by Lord Alfred Paget. Because he refused to give way, because he defended his love.

Gentle footsteps sounded on the carpet of the hallway outside the door. Edward entered so very gently and joined Alfred on the chaise. Alfred, though his limbs felt heavy, moved and lay his head in Edward’s lap.

Edward stroked his hair and spoke to him softly. He had been to Lady Peel’s, feeling he had to be the one responsible for breaking the news to her in person. He said she was just as one would expect. He fell quiet soon after. He had his own ghosts to battle with that day.

‘Forgive me,’ Alfred broke the silence after a while.

Edward supposed he’d be like this. Afraid he’d lost Edward’s love, after the way he reacted the last time. Alfred was afraid he’d lost his love because he caused Sir Robert’s, well, accident. But Edward did not see it that way at all. So he cupped his chin and turned his head. He took his time to look at Alfred first – Alfred, whom he’d earlier feared he would never see again – then bent down to place a kiss on his lips.

‘Thank God,’ Edward whispered.

Alfred opened his eyes to lock eyes with Edward, whose gaze was one of utter conviction. He had seen that look before, in soldiers’ eyes who have just returned from a battlefield. The hardened glow of one victorious in tragedy. And there was devotion in there, just as in Alfred, no matter the regret.

‘I should like to leave,’ Alfred said quietly.

Edward nodded in agreement.

‘We will, my love. We will.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still 1847 according to our timeline. Sir Robert died 3 years later in real life but we don't care. Drummond was like 25 years younger and died 3 years later in the tv show so just go with it.


	31. The Day of the Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We bury a part of the past but another resurrects itself.

The chapel was beautifully prepared, very simply and elegantly, befitting Sir Robert’s memory. Anybody who was anybody in the political scene gathered to pay their last respects to one of the greatest statesmen in the history of Britain. Due to the manner of his passing away, a sense of shock persisted in the air. This event should not have happened for at least a couple more decades. What a tragedy indeed, so sudden and so unlike the man whose fists were made of iron and his principles of something even firmer, such that they caused his demise in the end. Even Lord Anglesey didn’t have the heart to tease the Duke of Wellington with any nonsense today.

He was one of the few in the know, more than most in the illustrious congregation of statesmen, royalty, and other influential names of the finest society of the age.

‘Drummond,’ he greeted Edward upon arriving. ‘How is he?’ he asked immediately, not having to explain whom he meant.

‘Not much changed, to be honest,’ Edward replied sadly, regretting the looks of worry reflected equally from Lord and Lady Anglesey’s eyes.

Alfred had not left his room for two weeks. Ever since the accident.

Edward understood that Alfred did not only had to grieve but come to terms with his own part in all this. He was lucky (and even more guilty for it) to be surrounded by his faithful love who did not blame him and his friends who supported him and told him things that should have helped and things he knew, such as that he could not have expected the horse to slip or that he did not attack Sir Robert, he just stood his ground, or that Sir Robert brought it upon himself when he charged against Alfred, and that it was better for everyone that it happened this way, that his malintent was the true cause of his death, not the horse, and definitely not Alfred.

And still, he found it hard to face the days.

On this day, for the sake of the funeral, he managed to present himself outwardly, though he felt no better. While he was not officially on duty as Her Majesty’s man, he was obliged to follow her and the prince two steps behind. Prince Albert and Victoria paid their respects at the casket and expressed their condolences to Lady Peel, who accepted and thanked them, as all others, with elegance, grace, and dignity. Lord Alfred felt he had no right to appear broken when she could keep it together. He followed Her Majesty in line to Lady Peel, his own words of sympathy ringing strange to his own ears, given his hand in the matter. The worst was, she was still ever so kind to him, just as she was at the ball and at that banquet years and years before. She had no reason to think badly of him. She knew nothing of it at all. Alfred suffered a strange jolt when his gaze lingered on her jet black hair that was so like—she steadied him with a gentle hand and he welled up at her kindness and gave way to the ladies of the bedchamber before he gave himself away.

Drummond tactfully waited for all the royal entourage to finish before approaching her.

‘Lady Peel,’ he said in just as gentle tones as everyone else addressed one another. He held her hand as a gesture of greeting and comfort. ‘Please express my deepest condolences once more.’

‘For both of us, Mr Drummond,’ she said kindly, though she was obviously grief-stricken. ‘I know how much he respected and, if I may say so on this day without appearing sentimental, how much he loved you.’

‘I am not sure about that. I feel I disappointed him,’ Edward replied, knowing this to be true.

‘He had a way of expecting no less than the best of everyone.’

‘He did indeed.’

She looked up at him more closely. ‘You are not the only one with whom he parted on bad terms, Mr Drummond. If it seemed otherwise, believe it from me, he truly regarded you like his own—’

A commotion sounded from the entrance of the chapel.

‘See? It’s black, and it’s tied, and it’s around my neck. _Now_ may I please enter?’ a man could be heard saying rather indignantly.

The doorman was left staring in shock and disgust at the new arrival and the black flag behind him, which was now missing a piece of fabric hanging around his unbuttoned collar.

The tall, young gentleman with billowing dark hair stepped past him and cut through the crowd of mourners, smoothly sliding his sabre back into its sheath. He was extremely handsome. He left whispers in his wake. Some even pointed their fingers at him. However, he cared not about any of them as he walked down the aisle with his eyes focused sharply on one thing only: the casket at the end.

Though it was closed, he stepped up to the pedestal and had a good look, as if he needed to see it with his own eyes before believing it was true.

Lady Peel’s breath hitched, too, and she excused herself. Edward stepped away to find his seat. When he was sat, he saw her standing with the tall, dark man on the pedestal. She looked up at him as if she’d seen a ghost. To his surprise, she did not ask the intruder to leave them in peace. She hugged him.

Edward also noticed that over Lady Peel’s shoulder, the man’s sharp, dark eyes looked right at Lord Alfred, who was lingering by the benches with his mouth open. Something told Edward he shouldn’t have sat down quite so early and left Alfred to stand alone while the royal guests settled in the front row. But Alfred himself was rooted to the spot.

The priest entered from a side door, which signalled to the congregation that they should be seated now. Lady Peel let go of the man she held and sat down. Before he followed, the man lingered and stepped only slightly aside so as to brush past Lord Alfred.

‘Condolences, Captain,’ Lord Alfred said curtly, only because he felt compelled to say something now that he was approached.

The man feigned heartbreak by putting his hand over his heart, letting a strand of his jet black hair fall over his eyes handsomely.

‘The sight of you eases my pain enormously,’ he whispered to Alfred. ‘ _My lord_.’

He was even more handsome when he smiled, though there was something devilish in it no matter what he did. After a meaningful, lingering glance, he stepped back, assumed a neutral expression, and sat next to Lady Peel. So did Alfred, between Lady Portman and Drummond.

‘Who was that, Alfred?’ he asked though he had a terrible feeling he already knew the answer.

Alfred needed only to shoot a look at Edward, a look that spoke of apologies, shock, and complications.

Though he vowed never to return to Britain, Captain William Peel was back.

*

Wilhelmina wore her lightest dress but she was close to fainting from the heat in France even in the chapel. Mr Michael Walsh gave a little private service in Sir Robert Peel’s honour. Wilhelmina and Florence travelled the day to attend it and they had been worn out. Mme Isabelle Walsh was ever so kind to let her rest in a cold, shaded room. There was even crushed ice to put on her forehead!

Isabelle found her husband in the garden, knee deep in dirt, as always.

‘You’ll get a heatstroke, darling. Come inside now,’ she said.

Michael just wiped his forehead on a dirty cloth and squinted up at her despite the sun.

‘I’ll be in for dinner.’

‘But surely… a cold drink, perhaps?’

‘At dinner.’

Isabelle sighed. ‘Very well,’ she said and sat on a relatively clean spot on the bench. ‘Miss Coke said your service was beautiful.’

‘Oh? That’s kind of her. I must thank her when she feels rested,’ he replied, digging more holes for some herbs he was planting.

‘You should let the men do that.’

‘But I like it. It keeps me occupied.’

‘Keeps you from your melancholia, you mean,’ she pointed out, and she was right. He felt quite shamed and kept digging. ‘I wish you did not avoid me so.’

‘I do not avoid you, Isabelle,’ he lied.

She changed the subject instead: ‘I do wonder… she is very much in love with Monsieur Beauchamp but how will they manage it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He is a Catholic. She is not.’

‘That’s no crime.’

‘No, but…’

‘Well, Isabelle, if there’s one thing I’ve learnt in my life is that you cannot choose who gets your heart. _The course of true love never did run smooth_.’

‘Pardon?’

Michael’s heart sank. ‘Nothing.’

‘She has given us the invitation to the wedding. And you got another letter in the evening post,’ she said, handing him two envelopes.

He was nearly compelled to smile as he saw Mr Drummond’s writing. He did not expect any letters these days, given he must be busy taking care of the funeral and all sorts of business.

‘I don’t think we should accept,’ Isabelle said of the wedding.

‘Whyever not?!’ he asked, his smile gone in a flash.

‘Because it is in Scotland. We cannot travel with children.’

‘We can travel without them.’

‘We can but I do not wish to,’ she said sadly. ‘Not after… I want to know they are safe.’

Michael fell silent. She was right, they were living such dark and unhappy days. He did not want to be careless or heartless. But his heart raced just from a new letter. He longed for the prospect of a little break and seeing his friends again, even if he had to go all the way to Scotland for it.

‘I ought to read Mr Drummond’s letter,’ he said and that was her cue leave him with his flowers and privacy.

*

Alfred was dying for a smoke. He had been bound all day by his obligations. This was a state funeral, after all, the most formal one of the decade. After an elaborate and lengthy service, a funeral, and a long procession across the city, a dinner was held at the Palace rather than at Lady Peel’s home to better accommodate the sheer number of guests.

He was surprised at William. So far, the captain was behaving relatively normally. He kept to his mother’s side, who was, if not enamoured by her long-lost son, glad of his return. When she was talking to someone else, though, Alfred caught his eyes and cursed the choreography of the court that kept him from making it quite clear that he was spoken for so _stop looking at him like that_.

Any meaningful conversation with Edward was also out of the question. They were seated so very far, it was torture.

After what seemed like ages, Her Majesty stood up and the ladies left to the salons while the gentlemen remained in the dining room to smoke. _Thank Heavens_ , Alfred thought, positively scrambling for a big, fat cigar that should sustain his nerves for a couple of hours.

He checked that Prince Albert wasn’t looking his way for a second and, naughtily, leaned over the dining table to use a candle’s light. Alas, the candle slipped further away from his reach and was replaced by a lit tinderbox in someone’s hand.

William.

Alfred sat back and lit his cigar with his own tinderbox instead, pointedly avoiding his eyes.

Stephenson, who had sat next to Drummond, chuckled to himself at the other end of the enormous table.

‘What?’ Edward muttered distractedly – he had been eyeing Alfred like a lioness ready to pounce at the predator circling his king.

Evidently, though busy lighting his own cigar, Stephenson also picked up on something because what he next said was:

‘Ten pounds says Peel will try to do more than light Lord Alfred’s cigar before the night is over.’

Edward’s nerves turned into ice and he looked it.

‘Sorry,’ Stephenson backtracked at once. ‘You’re right, it’s a funeral, mustn’t bet.’

‘I meant…’ Edward uttered darkly.

‘Aaand Sir Robert’s spirit lives on,’ Stephenson lamented. ‘I shall say hello to the Captain, seeing as he’s more of a laugh than you, old chap, and it’s _his_ father’s funeral.’

William stayed standing on the opposite side of the table, smoking and watching Alfred, who in turn also remained there (bound to Prince Albert’s side) and smoked and decidedly did NOT watch William.

Stephenson came up.

‘Evening, Captain,’ he said without taking the cigar out of his mouth. ‘Condolences.’

William gave a noncommittal hum, without taking his eyes off Lord Alfred.

‘Grim reason to return to England for,’ Stephenson added for small talk.

William continued to gaze with insolent confidence at Alfred.

‘Noticed you haven’t talked much to any one of us here,’ Stephenson remarked to get a reaction.

‘Perhaps a funeral is not the right place for the things I desire to say,’ William responded, and Alfred intensely pretended to ignore him and kept nodding at whatever Prince Albert was saying about whatever. William’s gaze lingered before turning to Stephenson at last: ‘Say, Stephenson, is there any fucking scotch around here anywhere?’ he asked with the air of one inquiring about the exact shade of the wallpaper. ‘This port is as lukewarm as camel’s piss.’

This did not go unheard by most of the room but since the captain was the deceased’s son, there was hardly anything that could be done about him. Stephenson, being a worldly man, just cracked up and got a footman to serve them.

Someone raised his glass to what a wonderful man Sir Robert was.

William knocked back his double whisky and snapped for a footman for a refill.

Meanwhile, Alfred covered his glass of wine when another footman offered to top it up.

Also at the same time down the table, Lord Anglesey joined Edward.

‘I suggest you don’t glare so, my dear boy,’ Henry told him covertly and rather fatherly.

‘I thought you didn’t know about their… _friendship_ at the time, sir.’

‘Call me Henry, for heaven’s sake. And no, I did not. But I know the Captain. And I’ve been around many a lovers’ disaster. It’s like an accident one cannot look away from… or _stay_ away. Alas, be careful. He will spot you and _know_ and it’ll make it ten times worse, I’m afraid.’

‘ _Should_ I be afraid of him?’ Edward asked incredulously. So far, his anxiety had been only simmering upon seeing Alfred’s complete ignorance of William but now that Henry said this…

The Duke of Wellington joined them for a cigar, too, so no more could be said of the subject for now.

William had downed two more doubles of whisky to tolerate Stephenson’s small talk.

‘What will you do now that your Almighty boss is no more?’ he teased him.

‘I haven’t worked for Sir Robert in months.’

‘Really? Did Papa finally learn to write his own speeches before the end? And here I thought I haven’t missed out on much.’

‘He had Drummond, make no mistake.’

‘Who?’

Stephenson indicated Edward at the far end of the table, watching not too covertly to stand out.

‘Edward Drummond. The one talking to the duke and Anglesey. He was the senior secretary, much better suited to him than me. Stuck by the man till the end.’

William noticed Alfred glanced at the man as well, and not just out of boredom. Like he was worried. He got a good look for himself. This Drummond was rather beautiful, though as long-faced as the rest of the lot.

‘Doesn’t look like a pencil-pushing civil servant to me,’ he remarked, licking his lips.

Alfred shifted in his seat uncomfortably. And did his nose twitch in that way it did when he should have loved to scorn something?

‘If you don’t know him, you’d not have learnt about the assassination,’ Stephenson said.

‘The what?’

‘That’s right, that madman,’ Stephenson replied and gladly explained all about the time Drummond took a bullet for Sir Robert.

‘Why, do not break my heart and say he’s married now,’ William upped his previous remark, satisfied to note that every word riled up Alfred more and more. ‘Lately, I have found all the pretty ones are taken.’

Stephenson cracked up, now a tad uncomfortably, and excused himself to chat to some old friend of his or whomever.

‘Though I do not see a ring on _your_ finger, Lord Alfred,’ William now addressed him, emboldened by what was probably two bottles of wine and half a bottle of whiskey in him.

Alfred sighed inwardly. William was not a rowdy drunk but it went right to his tongue.

‘Perhaps I should get to know this heroic gentleman…’ he said, taking a slight step towards the far end of the table.

Alfred quickly excused himself on the pretext of finding an ashtray that wasn’t so full but leaned over the table a little further.

‘Please stop,’ he pleaded very covertly to William, out of Prince Albert’s earshot.

‘Did you not miss this?’ William whispered right back.

‘Just _don’t_.’

Edward did not take in a single word of the duke’s, Alfred glared so intensely at the captain. In fact, he was surprised it went over the heads of the whole room of gentlemen too engrossed in idle chit-chat. Henry covertly shook his head in warning – but damn it, not interfering was not Edward’s strongest suit.

Always the one to long for the ladies first, Prince Ernst suggested that the gentlemen join them. William smiled at Alfred, who had finally acknowledged him, grabbed the bottle of scotch and followed all who were filing out of the dining room and into the salons where the ladies were having a quiet time.

Moving more freely here, Alfred could finally have a word with some other guests, including his mother.

‘I know I’m not the person to say this but Mr Drummond is by far the more suited to you, darling,’ she told him out of the blue.

Alfred’s eyes went wide. ‘You do not have to tell me that, Mama!’ he whispered testily.

Did his mother think there was any doubt in him!? However, he cut his rounds of chats very curt, fleeing William whenever he seemed as if he would approach him. He did not wish to speak to him, he just wanted to grab Edward and go home.

Where was Edward anyway?

Alfred stood up straight to see over the heads of the crowd.

_Oh, no._

‘Captain Peel, is it not?’ Edward said, flat out approaching him lest he managed to reach Alfred. He offered his hand. It was shaken very distrustfully but Edward did not relent an ounce of his decorum and pride. ‘Please allow me to express my condolences.’

Edward’s confidence was commendable but it quickly waned when William did not grace him with a verbal reply. He just sort of kept looking expectantly and like he was observing a statue in a museum if Edward was honest. It brought a blush to one’s cheeks.

‘Um, well, it is a dark day for all of us,’ Edward added to disperse the silence.

‘Drummond, correct?’ William asked, his speech somewhat slurred now. ‘You’re new.’

‘Not so new, Captain. I served your father for nearly four years. Almost as long as you’ve been gone.’

‘Well, I wish I had embarked on my travels a little later. My father’s previous lapdog was an old bore – you and your Adonis’ curls were wasted in his office, I tell you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…’ William moved to seek out Alfred, still.

Edward was not thwarted. ‘Where is it exactly that you travelled?’ he asked. ‘India? Or was it Italy? Both?’

William stopped and smiled that devilish smile of his, through an obvious haze of alcohol. Though he had Alfred on his mind, he felt loose and he was not one to flee the company of a man so eager.

‘Now I truly regret I never knew you since you seem to know a great deal about me,’ William teased – or flirted? He certainly allowed himself to look Edward up and down. The awful thing was that Edward understood how this act would have worked on Alfred. On anyone, really. But this just reminded him how much cause there was for him to worry.

‘I believe we have a mutual friend.’

‘Yes, Stephenson told me about your heroic actions. How brave! Indeed, many a soldier is not prepared to do such a thing. For a good man, let alone my…’

He trailed off because just then, Edward caught Alfred’s pale, white, and scared face over the crowd. He was mouthing something like “ _What are you doing!?_ ” Despite his drunkenness, this split second was enough for the sharp-eyed soldier to put two and two together, and he let out a laugh from the surprise.

‘Wh—is _Alfred_ your friend, you meant?’ William now understood Alfred’s looks of alarm over the dinner table. ‘Why, a _close_ friend?’

Edward’s face said it all. William found this terribly amusing but there was something savage in his smile. He also knocked back the last of his whisky straight from the bottle.

‘Well, how lucky he is!’ he said with a sour undertone.

Alfred shook his head at Edward through the crowd, but despite this and despite Henry’s words of caution, Edward did not intend to be intimidated by the captain, no matter how handsome or charismatic he was.

‘I am the lucky one,’ he said without thinking. ‘And though I truly regret that we met on account of this sad occasion, and realise that you must take ample time to adjust to the reality of your changed circumstances given your troubled history with your late father, but I feel it is for the best for all of us if I waste no time speaking for Alfred and ask you to respect that he and I are…’

‘You’re lovers,’ William stated, calling a spade a spade. ‘Well, thank you for that. I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll just say hello to him regardless…’

Edward stepped ahead before William could pursue Alfred anyway.

‘Please, leave him alone. He’s been very shaken by the death and vulnerable since.’

‘Right, who the fuck _are_ you?’ William now stopped to ask, vexed enormously that though he was rid of his father, his man still stood in his way.

A few heads turned and Alfred was there in three strides to usher (and physically push) William out of the room, and when the captain seemed like he would shout in protest, Alfred silenced him with a hand over his mouth.

Edward followed them out to the hallway, aghast. William licked Alfred’s palm.

‘Hey!’

‘Let go of me, Alfred!’ William struggled indignantly and his bottle of whisky landed with a loud crash in an alcove in the wall. ‘Unless you plan on grabbing me in better places…’ Edward’s look of outrage was priceless – it cracked up William enormously. ‘Have I offended your gallant guardian?’

‘Don’t just stand there, Edward, help!’ Alfred pleaded, hardly able to restrain William, who was keen on returning to the room.

‘Bloody hell, Alfred, I got off the ship this morning thinking I return to England a free man, not to have to bother with my dead father’s damned secretary just to talk to you – what do you want, Drummond!? A written permission slip? An appointment?’

‘We just want you to behave, William,’ Alfred pleaded to him with urgency.

‘It’s my father’s funeral,’ he said with an odd, hollow laugh. ‘I do what I want! Or have you forgotten? How difficult he made everything!’

‘Please, William, stop, you’ll give us away.’

‘Discovered? Can’t imagine what THAT’S LIKE! Let me fucking go—ngghmmmm!!!’

To the footmen’s shock, Alfred silenced William again, this time using his own cravat to shut him up.

‘What are we to do?’ Edward asked Alfred, ignoring this imbecile but very aware of the servants and the fact that they were in the middle of Buckingham Palace, which was currently full of anybody who was anybody in Britain.

There was only one place to go.

After a nerve-shattering cab ride, during which the captain talked of nothing but where in which park they passed he had snuck into bushes with strange men and how many times, as a sort of nostalgic tourist guide upon seeing London again after all those years in exile, they finally managed to drag him upstairs into the main suite at Alfred’s house in Grosvenor Place.

‘Oh, this is grand, I say! Is this your house, Alfred?’

They sat him on a chair and debated whether to tie him up.

‘Ohh, I like the sound of that!’ he teased and began undressing.

They tied him up at the wrist behind the back of the chair.

‘What are we going to do?’ he asked excitedly. ‘Does this mean your friend’s game? I don’t mind you passed the time with him, you know – God knows I did while away. I do hope you’re not really exclusive. He’s so handsome I could cry! Let’s wipe that frown off his classically beautiful face. I mean, really, that’s an enormous bed! We could all fit comfortably.’

‘He’s got a unique sense of humour,’ Edward remarked, incredibly annoyed already.

‘I don’t think he’s joking,’ Alfred told him apologetically.

‘Gosh, Alfred, are you sure about this Drummond fellow? He’s so tragically uptight! But a good fuck can help that, can’t it? I suspect it does,’ William rambled on rudely.

‘Has he taken laudanum, then?!’ Edward asked, clutching his pearls. ‘This cannot be his usual countenance!’

‘Well…’ Alfred began but William was far too amused.

‘Why are we still chatting? Clothes off, chaps! We’ve got to celebrate my dear, late Papa in the best way we can, the way he would so hate to be honoured—help me get out of these rags, Alfred.'

‘Nobody’s getting undressed tonight, William,’ he insisted, hoping he’s got through.

‘But—’

‘Shall I put this back, Alfred?’ Edward cut in, holding the cravat which could shut up William somewhat. ‘Correction: may I?’

‘Hmm. Saucy, I like it,’ William raised him, throwing him a wink.

Alfred didn’t have the heart to. He poured him a glass of water, which William sniffed first and frowned at.

‘Where’s the liquor?’ he asked indignantly.

‘Haven’t you had enough?’ Alfred asked him, wiping his forehead on his sleeve.

‘I have to piss.’

‘Drink,’ Alfred ordered him like a schoolmaster.

However, William had untied his own wrists and produced a flask.

‘What? You called that a knot?!’ he laughed and poured. The flask’s contents turned the water green.

‘By God, what is that?’

‘ _Absinthe_. It’s a new thing – very popular in France. Want some? Or you, Mr So-Handsome-When-You-Frown? No? No one? Suit yourselves,’ William shrugged and chugged the drink.

Edward pulled Alfred aside.

‘Alfred, what are you planning on doing now? We cannot have him here.’

Behind Edward, William was letting the last of his absinthe fall drop by drop on his tongue. Alfred had to admit, he had a point. Alas, he had to be practical.

‘What do you suggest we do?’ Alfred asked. ‘Just as I feared, all this has gone to his head.’

‘I think the alcohol has.’

‘It’s not that. He’s just…’

‘Don’t you start defending this behaviour.’

‘Fine, but, oh, Edward, I should like to survive more than two weeks without someone else discovering us for a change, which they would if we let him back among people tonight! You know, when we first spent the night here I said that we would have challenges to face but even I am reaching my limits. Can’t we go one week without a disaster?’

Edward was hesitant.

‘Please, Edward. I feel so _guilty_ ,’ Alfred pleaded in hushed tones, nearly tearing up.

‘What are you whispering about over there?’ William asked loudly, while he set out to explore the room. ‘You never brought me here, Alfred darling. Why is that?’

‘Please, don’t touch that, sir,’ Edward asked as William opened and closed and TOUCHED everything.

‘Sir? Ohh, he is as courteous as he is gorgeous. Well done, Alfred. I hope he is as vigorous as he is gorgeous also…’

‘STOP messing about, Will!’ Alfred burst out, frustratedly and then rounded on Will, who was looking for something to fan himself with. ‘And stop taunting Edward! We’ve only brought you here to cool off!’

‘Cool off? Then let me take this off at least, God!’ William moaned and threw off his jacket. ‘I am burning up in here! Worse than the Nubian desert! “ _Nar, nar!_ ” the Arabs would shout. “ _Fire, fire!_ ”’

‘Stop being so dramatic and sit down, for God’s sakes.’

‘Where?’

‘ANYWHERE.’

‘At least a window…’

Alfred let William wander around the room just so he could turn back to a seething Edward smartly:

‘Look, let us just keep him here for tonight so as to prevent him giving us away in this state. I know he’s a little frustrating…’

‘Ha! A little!’ Edward laughed sarcastically.

‘I _know_ , but it is just for the sake of practicality.’

‘Just as long as it is only for that reason.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You have a kind heart. I hope that’s what’s guiding you, not other sentiments about the captain.’

At this, Alfred broke a sweat.

‘You _cannot_ be jealous right now, Edward!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ve enough on my plate as it is!’

‘Indeed, he is awfully handsome… if one has a type… Though I cannot see what you thought so attractive about him back then with these intolerable manners of his.’

‘He’s not that bad…’

‘God, stop arguing, you are boring me,’ William interrupted. ‘Seriously, it’s a hundred degrees in here – why the fuck is that fire going?’

He pushed past the others, whipped out his favourite body part, and extinguished the fire in the fireplace naturally.

 _Not that bad?_ Edward reached his limit, threw up his hands in defeat, and paced around the room, well away from it. Alfred’s eyes fell shut as if in silent prayer or perhaps if he just shut his eyes this wasn’t happening. When he was done, William splashed water on himself and proceeded to explore Alfred’s _eau de toilettes_ on the vanity.

‘You still use this?’ he asked with genuine warmth, smelling the orange scent.

Alfred wished Edward didn’t hear that, for his incredulity was apparent in an instant.

‘Put that down, please.’

‘Do you wear it when you miss me?’ William challenged next, though Edward was right there a few feet away. ‘Do you remember when I dripped the juice of an orange on you and…’

‘WILLIAM,’ Alfred shouted and took the crystal vial from him. Edward was on the verge of an aneurism.

‘That’s right, Drummond, I brought Alfred oranges first,’ William said defiantly. ‘Does that bother you?’

‘Stop, William, he’s done nothing against you.’

‘Oh, how romantic.’

‘Seriously, Will, I am not in the mood,’ Alfred replied disdainfully.

‘God, you get me hot when you’re angry.’

‘You are not yourself. Shall I ring for coffee?’

‘I am beyond caffeine, my dearest.’

No, Edward could no longer stand this. ‘Do NOT address Lord Alfred as such!’

‘Seriously, how committed are you to this?’ William quipped. ‘Because I could just lick that frown right off Mr Drummond’s face—’

Alfred had to step in between the other men before a real fist fight actually broke out.

‘STOP THIS AT ONCE, gentlemen. STOP it, I said STOP!’ he commanded, struggling in the crossfire.

‘He must leave here at once, Alfred,’ Edward demanded, casting aside his coat to fight the captain the better if he could get to him.

‘Make me,’ William replied, throwing him a taunting kiss.

‘EDWARD STOP, my love,’ Alfred pleaded between them, holding Edward off. ‘We cannot let him wander around town now!’

‘He has to leave!’ Edward demanded, rolling up his sleeves.

‘God, I wish that horse had fallen on me,’ Alfred sighed to himself theatrically, feeling it, really, really feeling it.

‘What horse?’ William asked.

‘The one that fell on your father, that one!’

William stopped struggling to get at Drummond. ‘A horse fell on him?!’ he asked.

‘Did you not know?’

‘No. No one said. Now I know why. That’s idiotic.’

‘Well, it did, I was there.’

‘Father never rode faster than a child might ride a wooden horse.’

‘He wasn’t riding that fast, my horse scared his and…’

‘ _Your_ horse?’

‘Yes,’ Alfred admitted, turning right around to face William, though he did not want to go over it again but if it was the price of stunning him into obedience, so be it. ‘If you want to know, your father discovered us and Edward tried to talk him out of reporting us. Sir Robert wouldn’t listen and galloped away, but I was there, expecting him to be this way. When I made no move to step out of his way, he charged against me regardless, scaring my horse, which in turn scared his. I managed to stay in the saddle. He did not. And then his horse stumbled on the gravel and crushed his chest.’

Alfred knew he made a mistake. William was standing there, stunned into an awful silence.

‘It was an accident,’ Edward emphasised, trying to soften the blow.

‘Sort of,’ Alfred added. ‘I’m not sure. There were a dozen witnesses but… I am so sorry, William. Forgive me.’

William stepped away and started slowly pacing around the room in the moonlight.

‘Hold on, do I understand well? Lord Alfred Henry Paget, do I take it… that you have not only… you’ve not only fucked Sir Robert Peel’s son, you have also fucked his right hand man and closest ally, _and_ you made him fall off his horse and die?’

Alfred wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

‘That does seem to be one way to tell it,’ he admitted, feeling terribly bad.

Anyone else in this situation would curse the perpetrator to the next century and raise charges on many, many counts. Not William.

‘I knew I fucking loved you,’ he exclaimed, hopping over the couch to embrace him.

Edward was there in a heartbeat. Though he managed to pry William off Alfred, the captain latched into him next.

‘And you! Drummond! You were there too! How can I ever thank you!?’ William rejoiced and before Edward knew what was happening, William kissed him with a loud smooch. He didn’t even mind being pushed away very firmly and he was far too drunk to care. ‘Well, boys, now we really must celebrate!’ he said and left a trail of clothes in his wake on the way to the bed, on which he stood as if on a pedestal of triumph. ‘This is a day to be remembered indeed! I love both of you! I will forever consider you my very best—oh, look, you can see the Palace from here! Do you think I’m big enough to be seen from ther—’

Alfred dragged him off the bed while Edward dashed to close the curtains.

William really reached the end of his coherence right about here. Somehow, they managed to take him to Edward’s suite, where he passed out so they left him there and locked the door on him.

Back in Alfred’s rooms, Edward tore off the comforter that William touched and got into bed, making sure that Alfred knew exactly how offended and disdainful he was. He even made a point of turning his back on Alfred’s side of the bed.

‘Edward…’ Alfred tried gently.

Edward just shot him a dirty look. ‘And this is the man you…’ he spat reproachfully and turned his back on Alfred again.

Alfred, however, was not in the mood to fight more.

‘No, not he is not,’ he muttered sadly in the dark, undressed and slipped into bed quietly.

Between the blank, dark ceiling of the four-poster bed and Edward’s back turned, Alfred found himself defeated.

‘What do you mean he’s not?’ Edward asked despite himself.

‘Nothing,’ Alfred murmured elusively.

‘He leaves in the morning.’

‘YES, I know,’ Alfred snapped. ‘You’re being unfair, too, you know.’

‘Me!?’ Edward turned to say. ‘He _urinated_ in our fireplace! And he made countless lewd remarks, not to mention he…’ Edward wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his nightshirt. Again. ‘Such a vile man I have never met in my life! To think you were once actually fond of him…! Makes me feel I do not know you after all.’

Alfred sighed, not wanting to relive it: either his years with William, or the part where he relieved himself on the logs.

‘Don’t be fooled by this,’ he said seriously. ‘I regret that you had to meet him in this state. Yes, he is unpredictable at the best of times, but no, this is not his usual countenance, believe me. I have never seen him like this before. Well, not _quite_ like this. He is actually quite brilliant and believes in Providence more than anyone I know. I realise these traits hardly shone through his performance tonight. But is it such a surprise? Sir Robert’s death has evidently affected him enormously. I know how you feel about him but he _buried his father_ today, Edward, the father that determined so much of the course of his life – _our_ lives, too! Imagine how he is feeling!’

‘Rather frisky, apparently.’

‘Edward!’

Since Edward was unrelenting, Alfred turned his back on him, too. If he was lucky, Edward would never notice his sobs. He did, of course.

‘Alfred?’

‘He’ll leave in the morning,’ Alfred said in a thick voice.

‘Are you crying?’

‘Don’t mind me.’

‘Not crying over him?!’ Edward asked, trying not to sound too harsh now but he was outraged. ‘Did he not cause you enough grief for a lifetime?’

‘You heard him… He too sees it is my fault.’

Edward cursed the heavens and got over his anger for the sake of spooning Alfred soothingly, even as he sniffed back tears.

‘You did not kill his father, Alfred.’

‘I owe him, though.’

Edward sighed and held Alfred tight until they fell uneasily asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So about William Peel.
> 
> Those of you who read A Close Call by me know him. You know the drill. He's a fuckboi but we love him. He learns.
> 
> Absolutely picture Ben Barnes in the role.
> 
> Wish I were a TV exec. Or a casting director. Instead of Wilhelmina, Will should have happened to Alfred.
> 
> He was probably the most Gryffindorest person ever. His short bio: http://www.vconline.org.uk/sir-william-peel-vc/4587855669
> 
> Yes, he threw a burning bomb out of harm's way and yes he joined the Navy at 13. And he was rumoured to be boyfriends with his aide de camp from Crimea. Considering Sir Robert is responsible for the heightened persecution of gay men in his age, I imagined their relationship must have been complicated to say the least. (But it's fiction.)
> 
> And since A Close Call I also read his account of travelling up the Nile and crossing the Nubian desert: https://books.google.co.uk/books/about/A_Ride_Through_the_Nubian_Desert.html?id=WkABAAAAQAAJ&printsec=frontcover&source=kp_read_button&redir_esc=y#v=onepage&q&f=false
> 
> There are some amazing gems in there, such as not being too mad at his travel companion when they only packed onions and grains to last the whole desert because he loved him too much (not sure what way but ummmmmm), and also when they had crossed it he flat out ran up to a bloke carrying water, stripped butt naked and commanded the guy to splash him.
> 
> That's Will.


	32. Adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Will have a much needed and long overdue talk. Plus, a slight chance of some fights over marmalade at breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> William's adventures are taken almost verbatim from his own account of his travels, A Ride Through the Nubian Desert: https://books.google.co.uk/books/about/A_Ride_Through_the_Nubian_Desert.html?id=WkABAAAAQAAJ&printsec=frontcover&source=kp_read_button&redir_esc=y#v=onepage&q&f=false

It was far too early to wake up. The sun hurt. His tongue felt like sandpaper. Where was he? Still on the ship? It felt like he was still swaying up and down, thrown left to right and left by endless waves at sea.

Someone tiptoed in and the mattress dipped. Anyone would have simply opened their eyes and greeted whomever was coming to say good morning. William, however, grabbed his sword, with which he slept, before any questions.

Alfred’s reflexes stood their ground at the cost of the blade meeting the teapot instead of his head.

‘Oh, no! Alfred! I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,’ William muttered drowsily at once, scrambling over the edge of the bed to gather the broken shards of porcelain off the floor.

Alfred, whose only casualty was his waistcoat splattered with tea, grabbed his wrists at once.

‘Don’t, I’ll get a valet to—no, seriously, I’ll get it,’ he said using a napkin to collect the shards rather than his bare hands as William, who of course cut himself and hissed. ‘See? Good grief!’

Alfred took the sabre from William and placed it carefully in its sheath and by the window. Then, he found some clean cloths and iodine and sat back on the bed.

‘Hand, please,’ he asked gently, knowing how badly William’s head must have tormented him. Now there was a cut across his palm to add to his pains. Alfred carefully cleaned it of any porcelain bits, dipped a cloth in water, and wiped his skin of the blood.

William sat back, letting him tend to the wound. ‘I’m sorry, I get these…’

‘Night terrors?’ Alfred said knowingly. ‘I remember. Less frequently, I hope?’

‘More. As I have seen more.’

William won his battle with the morning sun. He watched Alfred, who seemed to have a halo of gold around him in the sunshine, as he carefully worked on the cut without a word of reproach even though it was deserved.

‘Was I a humongous ass last night or was it only my dreams getting more creative?’

Alfred chuckled. ‘I’m afraid you were extremely difficult. I made your apologies a thousand-fold.’

‘I apologise a thousand and once more, regardless.’

‘It is understandable. Had you just got off the ship?’

‘I had. Someone telegraphed me in Gibraltar. I didn’t believe it. I had to come and see for myself. I just made it in time. I stopped to bathe at the first decent hotel on the way to the church but I am, as they say, fresh off the boat.’

‘Hence why you needed this?’ Alfred asked, holding up the piece of black fabric that once was a flag. He put it on the bedside table like it offended him.

‘There is hardly any need for black ties at sea, Alfred,’ William reasoned with humour but his smile faded fast. ‘In the East, colours are the way to part from the dead. And when a chap dies far from the shores, they are put to rest in the open ocean forever more, without much fanfare. Very far from… yesterday’s affair.’

Alfred stopped dabbing the now clean cut. William sat up, reliving the news.

‘So… he really is dead, huh?’

Alfred nodded and heaved a silent sigh. His heart was heavy with guilt and it also ached for William.

‘Forgive me,’ he said in a small voice.

‘What for?’

‘It was my fault.’

William shook his head at once, remembering all he learned the day before.

‘That’s not true,’ he said.

‘You said as much yourself last night.’

‘I was a drunken disaster, of course it’s not your fault. It was an accident.’

‘But if I hadn’t—’

‘If you hadn’t, you’d be on your way to the gallows today, Alfred.’

‘France, rather. On my yacht bought for precisely such an emergency.’

William cracked up at that. ‘Travel in style.’

Alfred smiled, too, for the first time since it happened.

‘Where were you?’ he asked now that there was a little more ease between them. ‘I heard some things when you were on active duty but not for many months now. Did you really go to the Nubian desert?! Or was that just a tall tale?’

‘I’m afraid I did. Took me three months there and back to Italy. Big mistake, I thought, when a fever got me but it was marvellous and…’ William pondered, memories flashing across his mind’s eye. ‘Very, very hot!’ he concluded.

Alfred laughed.

‘Really, ridiculously hot!’ William said. ‘My gun _melted_ in the sand, Alfred! Really, the locks of my fowling-piece, they just couldn’t handle it, I am not lying. I was worried my thermometer was going to give up. Seriously, once we had arrived at Labeyed late at night, just after supper, or what _answered_ for both dinner and supper, I caught sight of a water-carrier, and running up to him, I stripped, and made him, no doubt to his great astonishment, pour a dozen water-skins over me. You may laugh but it was such a delight to revel in its cold shower after the dirt and fatigue of _ten_ days’ travelling.’

‘That does sound like something you’d do, I do not doubt that!’

‘Oh, this was nothing – the heat met its competition in thirst and hunger.’

‘Did you not pack enough for the road?’

‘Road? Sand and dunes and the stars and not a blade of grass were my “road”, Alfred. And yes, I thought I packed enough but there was one time when most of our water-skins got gnawed through by some wretched animal in the night and we had not a drop left for the last day. And then I was foolish enough not to check we had enough food, thinking, stupidly, that the cook must have taken care of it. We got on the camels – not as fast as horses but so much stronger and much more resilient creatures – and after the first dinner of onions—’

‘Onions?’

‘Yes, _just_ onions, and another day of travel, I was never more fatigued! My tongue was parched and my throat painfully swollen by the hot south wind. We came to a halt after one o’clock at night and I stretched my poor body on the sand to sleep, and my mind wandered by the side of rippling streams in the earthly paradise of England. By the next morning I was positively starving and eagerly asked what we had brought and then leant that we had come to cross this desert without a stick of firewood, with no meat, no eggs, no vegetables, for even the onions were gone. I turned with the fierceness of an African tornado. What was the use of a Couwass? What was the use of a cook? What was the use even of my faithful Churi!?’

‘Churi?’

‘Mr Joseph Churi, the man who taught me Arabic and became my travel companion.’

‘Companion…?’

‘Well, I had to have a friend. A _friend_ , Alfred.’

‘Only curious.’

‘Hm, so you are… But I daresay he had enough of me for a lifetime, having spent most of the journey in a far worse fever than I! Oops. Before that, though, there we were, two days in the desert and my temper justly rose higher than the heat of the midday sun, as you can imagine. The cook and the couwass retired, but Churi’s temper is imperturbable, and he loved me too well to care for my hasty words. He said he had tried his best; he thought _I knew there was nothing_. Ha! But my fiery passion soon fell at his soft answer, and I asked _kindly_ to know what there was besides our tea and coffee and somehow we managed to last on grains and stale bread.’

‘Is this why you are so thin?’

‘Excuse me, I have nearly regained my full pride of health, Alfred!’ William replied, showing off his bicep even though he was so wretchedly tired and hungover.

Alfred shook his head in awe. ‘ _Why_ did you… and _how_ did you survive that!?’

‘Divine Providence looked after me always,’ Will said seriously. ‘For example, on the way from Barbar, we had been travelling since the morning with no food, but our hard stale bread, a village that we had reckoned upon for an evening meal having been entirely deserted, and it was now about nine o’clock: when I asked the Arab if there was no place where we could possibly find a supper, he said we were just abreast of a place where he remembered there were a few houses, but most likely all deserted.’

Though William was safe and sound in the bed, Alfred’s breath hitched at the desperation he could scarcely imagine.

‘I told him to strike in,’ William continued. ‘And turning our dromedaries towards the river, we entered among enormous sand hills broken into heaps like a tumultuous sea. We then came among palm trees half buried in the sand, and below was the broad stream of the Nile rushing over a rocky bed. Soon after we saw the flickering of a light and the barking of a dog announced our approach.’

‘A dog?’

‘Why, yes, there are dogs in Africa, just as in the glittering salons of the Palace, though they and their owners do not wear matching Queen Victoria necklaces.’

Alfred smirked, not at all regretting that touch on Diver’s style, his Dalmatian which he got to fight the heartbreak Prince Eugène had left. Will could tease him but he loved Alfred’s golden glamour from the first – he who had been in such wastelands but had also seen a thousand wonders knew where he found a treasure.

‘I went up at once on foot to the hut,’ William continued his story, captivating Alfred. ‘And there I found a poor creature trembling with fear. I told her I was no Turk but a Christian – you know, anyone with my complexion is afeared in those lands as an Ottoman who goes to conquer and enslave the locals – and I said I wanted some food.’

‘In Arabic?’

‘Yes, of course, in Arabic, Alfred. Some food. That’s all. And that I would pay for it. The Arab then runs up, at which the poor trembling creature cried out, “ _I am a wretched helpless woman, but dressed in these man’s clothes when I heard you approaching_.” Well, she did not need to fear _me_ for _that_ … We soon quieted all her fears and sat down by the fire, for the night was very cold, and shared with her some beans which she happened to be boiling for her supper. I cannot paint you a proper picture of that scarcity, Alfred, not you who dines with Her Majesty daily. A few handfuls were all this woman’s store, and even these had been given to her in charity by a passing caravan. She had once been a slave, she told us, and said that the place was entirely deserted, and she was left alone without any support. We left her quite overcome with thankfulness at the present of some money that I gave her, with which she would be able to purchase food from the caravans, and winding through the sand hills that half buried her little hut, we rejoined the track of the desert. That is why I travelled, Alfred. Providence had sent me to that lone house to visit the poor creature at a moment of blank despair. I can account for this by no other explanation.’

Alfred had listened in complete awe. He stayed silent as he felt he had nothing sufficient to respond to this. William sat up closer to him in this moment of reverence and intimacy.

‘Just as Providence diverted your horse in my father’s way that day, so as to allow me to return. Yes, I dreamt of England’s heavenly, luscious woods each night but also of you, Alfred,’ he confessed, bringing his hand up to Alfred’s chin and allowing himself a good look at his past lover’s beautiful features. ‘I should have taken a likeness of you with me. How I missed you! The fool I was four years ago would never have admitted it but I no longer hide from the truth. I missed you.’

Alfred gently pried William’s hand away from his skin, though he was naturally flattered.

‘I’m sure you found plenty of others to comfort you.’

William pressed his forehead against Alfred’s. ‘No one compares to you.’

Alfred leaned away just an inch before it went too far. William opened his eyes and remembered.

‘What… Drummond?’

Alfred looked up at William confidently. He wasn’t going to apologise for having found love. William rolled his eyes.

‘I suppose one must pass the time with something…’

‘I haven’t just passed the time with Edward,’ Alfred said defiantly.

‘Come, Alfred. You’ve been lovers. So?’

‘It is more than that.’

‘What more can there be for men like us? Yes, dining out, and seeing plays and races, and talking till dawn, and of course passions of the night… All things we had done also. What makes him so different?’

‘I love him.’

‘You loved me, too.’

‘Yes, I did. And then you left,’ Alfred said, a little snappish even though he didn’t mean to. He swallowed his hurt but only barely. ‘And Edward is not someone I sought out for comfort. It was years before we did anything about our true affections. You can taunt him and belittle us but I truly love him, and he loves me, too. And he is not afraid to say it. Yes, we talk and ride and _everything_. And we live together here. I consider him my husband. To whom I am faithful, and he to me. If we are to be friends, you must respect that.’

William scoffed at that. ‘Well, he could scarcely sue us for adultery in a court of law.’

‘It is enough that we said our vows and meant them.’

‘Did you not miss me at all?’ William asked, the pain obvious in his eyes.

‘Of course, I did. Desperately. But you _left me_.’

‘It was not my choice!’ William flared up.

Alfred stood up, feeling as wretched as that night he dropped William off.

‘You know, whilst you were having all your adventures – no doubt some as uncomfortable as you said and some I would bet far more luxurious and _gratifying_ , with your _friends_ in every port – I faced your dear Papa for years, standing behind Her Majesty each week like a potted plant whilst she gave her audience to Sir Robert, bowing to him, not saying a word, and not driving my sword through him for what he’s done to you, to us!’

‘Well, what a feat indeed – I’m sure you suffered more in _Buckingham Palace_ , weighed down by your diamonds and your family and friends, than I who never found a home for too long for years no matter how far and wide I searched for it!’ William said, throwing back the covers and standing like he wasn’t as naked as a bird.

‘I’m sure you found many a home in many men’s arms, William,’ Alfred spat in response, looking him up and down reproachfully. ‘Or perhaps if you didn’t blatantly overdo all that and didn’t leave a trail of jealous lovers behind you in every country…’

‘Says you, who was a wild in his tastes as I and is now playing house with that pretty boy Drummond – I’m sure he has an enormous… _sense of humour_ , and a _firm_ … social standing. That’s what drew you to him, was that not?’

‘Oh, look who’s talking about what delights me about a man! You find it sufficient if one has a heartbeat.’

‘Which less than half my once lovers can boast of, I’ve buried so many!’ William burst out, hurt to the core. ‘Not that it matters because I might as well have be dead to them for all they cared about me but yours, _your_ heart raced for me at double the pace for years and years: it was not the gossip, not the secrets, not even our special games that kept you coming back to me, you cannot deny it.’

‘I do not deny it and nor do I deny how PATHETIC I was throughout that time – waiting for you blindly and without a WORD for months and months, dropping everything when you fancied a quick visit back to England. Damn my life, my duties, I was sacrificing them for “love”, after all! Yes, I mistook your affection for love when you did not even care to say it back to me – or not dared? You, so brave on the battlefield yet so cowardly when all I asked was a little more of your TIME. When I did not know I deserved BETTER, someone who didn’t constantly ABANDON me,’ Alfred raised his voice against what he promised himself – but the past four years of pent-up hurt were coming out of him rather predictably.

‘There are more important things than passion sometimes, you know,’ William retaliated.

‘Such as shooting at the Chinese until they give in and trade in opiates again?! Yes, SO important, I say!’

‘No, that’s not fair, Alfred, I am a soldier, I was—’

‘Young? Well, you are no longer so young and yet there are always new wars to fight or new adventures to have or new men to… when you got bored of me! No doubt you are eager to report for active service even now you barely stepped off the ship, no doubt you were eager to leave me back then and you merely found the perfect excuse that day…’

‘I never—I _had_ to go, Alfred, Papa would have reported me—’

‘And so would he have us, Edward and me, if he hadn’t… and yet _we_ made plans to travel _together_. We were prepared to DIE TOGETHER!’ Alfred shouted furiously, stunning even William. Alfred nearly broke out in tears because it was true. So was what William said. But then, he had the chance to ask the question that tormented him for so long: ‘Why did you not ask me if I—!?’

‘Oh, do not pretend you would have come with me.’

‘You never _asked_.’

William’s breath hitched at the deluge of his past emotions drenched him all over once again. _Was that where he went wrong?_

‘You may have changed, William,’ Alfred continued firmly. ‘But so have I. That night, no, I would not have gone with you _because_ you did not care for me like that.’

‘I did—I didn’t—’

‘I told you I _loved_ you. And you, you took me to some molly house and announced you were leaving England FOREVER! I DROVE YOU TO THE DOCKS! Not that it was such a change! You were always gone, you were always fighting, you cheated on me constantly—’

‘Not constantly—’

‘YOU WENT FROM FUCKING THAT FOOTMAN THAT MORNING TO MY BED! Did you even WASH between us!? By God, I canNOT BELIEVE we are having this fight again!’

‘So you went and got yourself a little house-husband?’ William challenged. ‘Is that your answer? Does he make you feel safe? Does he shower you with presents when he has to work late? Does he have a _headache_ often?’

‘Ohohoho,’ Alfred laughed mercilessly. ‘ _Au contraire_.’

‘Is that it then?’ William asked, burning from jealousy. ‘Is he a better lover than I that you are so committed?’

‘Don’t you dare, William…’ Alfred warned, not at all amused.

‘Really. Is he a better fuck than me?’

‘Stop it.’

‘Does he swallow your…’

‘WILLIAM.’

‘Does he _fuck_ every _drop_ out of you—’

Alfred slapped William across the face.

Enjoying the tingling sensation and satisfied to get any form of passion, William smirked. He straightened back up and opened his mouth but, though panting from fury at himself more than William, Alfred was quicker:

‘Attention, Captain.’

‘Excuse me?’ William asked, confused.

‘I SAID stand at attention, _Captain_.’

William was incredulous but Alfred seemed serious so, after some huffing and puffing, he stood straight and saluted the Chief Equerry, who, unfortunately, outranked him even though his shapely legs had never touched a single battleground.

It did remind him of the times when he played a little with _his lordship_.

‘Yes, sir?’ William teased in a huskier voice than would have been appropriate in public. And in uniform. Or indeed any clothing.

‘Hold out your hand, Captain,’ Alfred ordered.

‘Excuse me, sir?’

‘YOUR HAND.’

William did. The cut across his palm was still bleeding. Alfred applied some iodine and started to bundle the hand up tightly.

‘You will cease this insolence against Edward at once,’ Lord Alfred also commanded the captain. ‘We both of us hurt one another but you will deal with this like a GENTLEMAN, and I trust you not to give us away and cause me the greatest unhappiness of my life in losing Drummond. In turn, should you find yourself in need of a friend, you will be able to regard me as such, but ONLY as a friend henceforth. Furthermore, there is a bathroom behind that door. You will wash, and dress, and make yourself DECENT whilst you are under my roof.’

Alfred tied the cloth’s end and stepped away. William meant to speak but—

‘AND BREAKFAST IS AT NINE,’ Alfred shouted and stormed out of the room.

He found himself face to face with all other inhabitants of the house.

‘YOU HEARD ME,’ he screamed at them, red in the face, and stormed down the corridor only to slam the door of his suite behind himself so hard that a picture fell off the wall.

‘Feigns I clean that up,’ Wood said and got to work.

‘Yes, thank you, Wood,’ Edward said, massaging his temples. ‘Wilson, do find something of Lord Alfred’s for the captain to wear.’

‘Very good, sir,’ the valet said and left to fetch some garments.

‘And us?’ Charlotte asked.

‘You heard him. Breakfast. I’ll just, uh…’

‘Go,’ Cecilia said.

Edward stepped gingerly into the suite to check on Alfred. He was pacing up and down and lighting a cheroot with shaking hands.

‘Alfred, my love, are you alright after that?’

‘Spiffing,’ Alfred said, smoking furiously. ‘I am splendid, I have never been better!’

Edward bit his bottom lip. ‘I will ask him to leave now,’ he offered (or rather asked).

‘No. Let him pull himself together for once. And eat. Yes. Food. I’m hungry. Need a waistcoat, too. Aren’t you hungry? Let’s go down.’

Why wasn’t Alfred surprised when they arrived for breakfast in the orangery and William was having a sword fight with Charlotte in the garden? Given she was his responsibility and Alfred had reached his wit’s end, Edward went there to end the fight, while Alfred, tired, sat by Cecilia, who was also smoking, at the crisp white cast iron garden table.

‘Do I want to know?’ he asked, pouring himself some coffee.

‘He referred to me as Charlotte’s busty lady friend and hogged the marmalade. You know how partial she is to marmalade. And me. They’ve been at it for ten minutes.’

‘It’s…’

‘I know,’ Cecilia breathed, though not at all frustratedly. On the contrary, she was rather hot and bothered and immensely enjoying the display. ‘Aren’t they just…’

Alfred wasn’t sure what they were just. Suffice it to say Cecilia smoked rather slowly and luxuriously, exhaling the thick fumes with a most pleasurable sigh. Over there on the lawn, Charlotte’s hair had come loose from its ribbon and was now as wild as ever, clashing one of Henry’s display swords against William’s trusty sabre while he instructed her on better technique even as he was striking back. Edward, true to form, had to physically step between them to break them up.

‘This isn’t over,’ Charlotte declared and returned to her marmalade and toast.

‘Do you think you could bring that sword to the bedroom tonight?’ Alfred heard Cecilia whisper hotly into Charlotte’s ear.

He downed his coffee in one.

He also made sure William sat and had a proper breakfast, not letting him stand unless he had cleared his plate. Under orders, the captain was quite civil to Edward all throughout, preferring to amuse Lady Cecilia with tales of his travels, which were quite impressive (though Charlotte shot him nasty glares a lot). Despite his jealousy, he wasn’t blind. There was obviously such love and a special understanding between Drummond and Alfred, it wasn’t so much that he wasn’t able to come between them but that he didn’t want to. Alas, he couldn’t help how he longed for Alfred, whose mere memory had kept him going on long, dark nights abroad many times. So, he did not object when it was suggested he visited Lady Peel, properly at last.

‘As far as I remember about civilised English society,’ William said to Alfred on the steps outside the house, ‘it is customary for me to return your hospitality but I shan’t be breakfasting with you all that often, if that’s alright. Soon I would not fit into my uniforms, with you dead set on fattening me up.’

Alfred shrugged awkwardly. It was one thing to want to look after William’s health and happiness but a whole other thing to admit it in as many words.

‘I know what you’re trying to do,’ William added, still surprised of the way he had been taken care of rather than thrown out of the house. ‘And thank you.’

Alfred still just lingered awkwardly.

‘What will you do now?’ he asked as nonchalantly as he could. William indicated the scenery of the street and the park behind him, with the Palace across it and hundreds of houses in the distance all around them. ‘The city?’ Alfred asked.

‘At first. I should really talk to Mama. I also wonder if my preferred restaurants are still open. And then… the country, I thought. The hills, the lakes, maybe further north. Might actually buy property. Somewhere where it’s always green, say, Bedfordshire.’

Alfred smiled. It was good to see William a free man again.

‘I should like to be friends,’ William also said before he changed his mind. ‘I do miss all the talking and going out, not just the…’ he trailed off, bringing a blush to Alfred’s cheeks. ‘But it will be some time before I truly accept you’ve found Mr Perfect.’

‘I understand.’

Mirroring Alfred, William also nodded awkwardly and forced a smile before turning to leave.

‘Wait!’ Alfred was compelled to say. He ran back into the house and out again, where he stuffed a vase with a bunch of twigs into William’s hands. ‘In the spirit of friendship: Mama sends these to Lady Peel.’

‘Roses?’

‘For her garden. Don’t ask. It’s my fault for all that flattery. This is just something recent, something…’

‘Alright. I’ll deliver it.’

‘Alright?’

‘Alright.’

‘Right.’

‘Yes.’

‘Right, well, um…’ Alfred stuttered and laughed at himself in the end.

After another long, but a little less awkward moment, William squeezed Alfred’s elbow in a gesture of reassurance and goodbye and walked away, with the rose cuttings, through his favourite parks and streets on which he had not clapped eyes for far too long.

Edward was waiting for Alfred inside. They walked back to breakfast together, arm in arm. Edward was quite proud of Alfred, he couldn’t articulate exactly why. The ladies only teased Alfred a little for the captain’s antics, and if he retaliated by offering to correct Charlotte’s swordswomanship, it was her fault for forgetting to bend her knees properly before.

There was only one question Edward asked about this episode later:

‘Do you still want to leave London?’

Alfred knew Edward didn’t ask because he was afraid William would be too good a reason to stay after all. He asked because the deal was that they would leave and not flee.

‘Yes,’ Alfred replied honestly. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Won’t you regret it?’

‘No. It’ll be an adventure.’


	33. Wilhelmina's Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust Wilhelmina to get (almost) everyone dancing. Plus, Edward learns too much about Charlotte's reading habits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No offence to the existing Queensberrys but

‘ONE MORE! JUST ONE MORE!’ cried the jolly company, and the band struck the chords of another lively reel.

The August night was unusually warm, though Wilhelmina had fretted all morning about possible rainfalls on her big day. No such accident or any sort of bad luck happened. And now, dancing under the open stars until she was out of breath, she was positively glowing. Her cheeks were red and shiny and her smile was as bright as ever. Alfred had to laugh out loud as he skipped around in the circle with her to the rhythm of a new song.

The wedding was splendid and very elegant. Bernard and Wilhelmina were clearly overjoyed to be married at last.

They originally wanted it to be held in France but, as she explained apologetically in person, in order to lessen the judging for her choice of husband in trade, Drumlanrig Castle was settled on eventually. It was extremely illustrious and had a marvellous art collection including Rembrandts and Leonardos to boast of. The only drawback was that the Queensberry side of the family was also represented in great numbers, and they couldn’t be further in character from the bride. Luckily, her true friends were right there to surround her and get rid of unpleasant guests. Given the Queen’s imminent return to Scotland, the ladies of the bedchamber attended, and of course, Lord Alfred and Mr Drummond, who helped Wilhelmina get her happy ending.

Michael had also come, though alone. Apparently his wife, Isabelle, was anxious not to leave the children alone and said no more about it.

He was as gloomy as Edward suspected, just from reading between the lines of his letters. Alfred was keen on cheering him up. As soon as the formal parts were over, the dancing began, in the ballroom as well as outside on the lawn in the later hours, by which time mostly only the younger guests were still on their feet. Taking over from the orchestra, local musicians livened up the reception with reels. Not having seen Alfred since the duchess’ funeral, Wilhelmina wasted no opportunities to dance with him. It was the perfect way for Alfred to finally come out of his own gloom of the summer in the wake of Sir Robert’s death. It was only a matter of repeated attempts at dragging Michael in the circle until he cheered up, too.

Unfortunately, Alfred was thus far unsuccessful, but the night was still young.

The same couldn’t be said of the ladies: Cecilia was in disguise as Hilda, of course, but she was so happy to be out and about. She really needed a trip after hiding in fear for so long. Now she was skipping around and around giddily with Charlotte, who only had eyes for her and did not flirt with anyone else this time.

Predictably, Edward was swarmed by eligible ladies all evening, looking longingly at Alfred, who was also very popular when not called dibs on by the bride, and of course, this was _her_ big day, sorry, ladies.

The groom, Bernard, alternated between dancing with his beloved new wife and watching her from the sides in awe at his own luck.

‘Whoops!’ Cecilia laughed as she clashed with Alfred in the reel so hard her wig nearly slipped off.

‘Are you hurt, Lord Alfred?’ Wilhelmina asked seeing the pained expression on Alfred’s face.

‘Only my pride! Oh, Cecil—Hilda! Always a menace on the dance floor!’ he grumbled, saying goodbye to tomorrow’s hike with that foot that just got murdered by her heeled shoe.

‘It’s these thick glasses, sorry!’ Cecilia laughed, though her smile faded when she caught sight of a Queensberry cousin, who eyed her strangely from outside the circle.

She adjusted her wig and continued the reel with Charlotte.

Alas, despite Alfred’s continued attempts, Michael was inclined to retire at the earliest polite opportunity.

‘Are you sure?’ Alfred nudged him before he went upstairs. ‘You don’t have to dance, we can just sit on the terrace and catch up.’

Michael was overjoyed at being among friends but felt like a spare part.

‘I’m worn out from the journey,’ Michael said as an excuse. ‘You stay, enjoy yourselves. I shall see you at breakfast.’

‘But you’re going back so soon. Please say you’ll come with us tomorrow. Edward said he has a surprise.’

‘For you, I should think, not me.’

‘Oh, who cares? Please, Michael. For me. Perhaps I could even wangle an invitation by Her Majesty. What could be more ideal?’

‘I told Isabelle I wouldn’t be away for more than a week.’

‘She has an army of helpers around her. I daresay she’ll manage a week more without you. Please,’ Alfred asked, tugging on his friend’s sleeve playfully.

After a little push-and-pull, Michael stayed for just one more drink but ended up retiring early anyway, using the slight drizzle in the air as a pretext.

This wouldn’t do, Alfred thought, and Edward agreed.

The next morning, the ladies drifted out of sleep and right into soft kisses, which turned into other kinds of kisses until passion swept them away while the rest of the castle was quiet. The predicted showers finally arrived and they sighed and moaned against the backdrop of raindrops knock-knock-knocking against the steamy window panes in their irregular but steady pattern.

Cecilia broke away from Charlotte’s lips just to say ‘I love you,’ and resume their lovemaking under the covers.

Charlotte said it back in the throes of passion soon enough as she was close to—

A knock sounded, this time on the door.

Her impish Cecilia didn’t stop so whoever the intruder was had to wait while Charlotte’s stifled her moans against the silky soft skin of lover’s neck as her muscles tensed uncontrollably, and pleasure coursed through her.

Cecilia smirked smugly at her work even while Charlotte struggled to catch her breath enough to be inconspicuous.

‘Yes, who is it?’ she asked, knowing she had locked the door with a key the night before, so they were quite safe, though, annoyingly, disturbed.

‘Lord John Queensberry,’ a man said on the other side of the door.

‘Queensberry?!’ Cecilia whispered. They expected it to be a woman, whether servant or lady, who bothered them in the women’s corridor. How did a man even get this far in this wing without being spotted!? But then, dread filled Cecilia, remembering him.

‘Apologies, Miss Drummond, but I must inform you there is an investigation of sorts for which you are required to be interviewed with immediate effect.’

Charlotte sat up, scrambling for her dressing gown. ‘An investigation? Regarding what?’ she asked, not liking this. Checking her pocket-watch, she saw it was barely six in the morning. This was all very wrong.

‘Regarding Miss Cecilia Wyndham, step-daughter of the Earl of Listowel. It really is a sensitive matter, Miss Drummond, perhaps if I may enter…’

And the man tried the locked door.

Cecilia was filled with panic, tugging on Charlotte’s arm.

‘I knew it, I _knew_ it…’ she fretted in a stifled whisper. ‘He saw me. Last night, when my wig slipped. I thought I recognised him from somewhere – I only met him once but I was promised to him by my stepfather, that’s why he locked me up! Please, Charlotte, please don’t let him—’

‘I shall not let him do anything,’ Charlotte reassured her determinedly.

Queensberry was a dead man as far as she was concerned.

‘I cannot let you in, Lord John,’ she said loudly and firmly. ‘It is six in the morning, I am undressed, and this is the ladies’ corridor if you need reminding. I shall be downstairs for breakfast and we can discuss it then.’

‘But the inspector sent me up specially,’ he replied cunningly.

‘An inspector is here? Why?’

‘You know why, Miss Drummond.’

‘I’m sure I don’t.’

‘Forgive me, Miss Drummond. Some would say losing one’s pair of glasses is foolish. However, not realising that one’s famous best friend has been missing for a year is downright carelessness… or perhaps cause for suspicion.’

‘Why look for her in my room at this strange hour?’

‘I volunteered to help the inspector by checking every room on this end.’

‘Well, she is not here.’

‘Perhaps if I could see for myself?’

‘I think I should know if my dearest friend was hiding in my bedroom, sir.’

‘It is the inspector’s orders, miss.’

Charlotte cursed under her breath and cursed the man mentally. She also realised she would have to be more convincing than this and prepare for the worst. Looking around, she spotted the closet sunk into the wall. It wasn’t very spacious but it would fit her.

‘Cecilia, my love,’ Charlotte whispered to her, cladding her in a robe gently. ‘I need you to hide.’

‘Where?!’ Cecilia mouthed in fright.

‘In there,’ Charlotte replied, taking her to the closet.

All the blood immediately drained from Cecilia. ‘No. No, Charlotte, please don’t make me—’

‘One would say, Miss Drummond, that making an inspector wait is suspicious in itself,’ Queensberry warned from outside.

‘I am just getting dressed, sir, you’ll allow me that bit of decency before I face you,’ Charlotte told this cad harshly before turning back to her frightened Cecilia. ‘I’m sorry, my love, but you must.’

‘But…’ Cecilia sobbed, shaking like a leaf already.

‘It’s not for long,’ Charlotte comforted even as she was easing her into the small closet to hide among clothes and shoeboxes. ‘I’ll get you in a minute.’

‘Promise me!’

‘I promise,’ Charlotte said and kissed her. ‘I’ll take care of this.’

‘Wait there’s no latch from the insi—!’ Cecilia fretted in panic but Charlotte had closed the door on her and she was left to sit in silence and captivity once more, with only the keyhole to connect her to the outside world.

What if Charlotte had to go downstairs without setting her free? What if she was found guilty of hiding her and carted away and no one knew where Cecilia was until she would die a horrible death from thirst and hunger and her skeleton would only be revealed decades later!?

Charlotte fastened the belt around her waist and opened the door just a few inches.

‘I must say, Lord John, that this is most unseemly of you, barging into the women’s corridor uninvited.’

‘Well, then, you could invite me in,’ the man quipped haughtily. ‘Fear not, miss, I am a trustworthy gentleman.’

She didn’t trust him for a second.

‘As you can see, Miss Wyndham is not here,’ Charlotte said, presenting the seemingly empty room behind her. ‘What does the inspector want exactly?’

‘Just a couple of questions.’

‘Well, then, there is no need to corner me in my bedchamber, sir. The inspector shall ask me whatever he sees fit downstairs,’ she said, moving to shut the door in his face.

His reflexes were quick.

‘Now, just, look, miss,’ he said, stepping closer, so close she recoiled and, unfortunately, this allowed him to step into the room. ‘I am doing you a favour here.’

‘I don’t see how,’ Charlotte spat, eyeing the distance between the gun in her bedside table versus the intruder. She backed towards it slowly. ‘Miss Wyndham has not been sighted since last summer. Surely, instead of interrogating me all of a sudden, I ought to be allowed to grieve for her, or pray she is well, wherever she is.’

Thankfully, in the wherever she was, i.e. the closet, Cecilia was not making a single sound.

‘Quite. However, Miss Wyndham was sighted by a guest last night.’

‘Who?’

‘Myself.’

‘That’s ridiculous. I attended the wedding, and the reception, and saw no sign of her. You must be confused.’

‘Perhaps. Or perhaps you chose not to see her, Miss Drummond. Perhaps a disguise helped. Clever, but not clever enough…’

Queensberry emphasised his words by taking a brush off the vanity, the bristles of which were full of ginger hairs. He quirked his eyebrows.

She huffed a laugh. ‘That is from my fur.’

‘Really? What kind?’

‘Fox.’

‘Perhaps if you showed me, I could match them?’

‘It is somewhere in the servants’ quarters, for cleaning. You might want to push in there as well, no doubt and surprise the maids. Good luck with that. Now, please leave and allow me to dress—’

Queensberry actually had the audacity to grab her wrist before she rang for a servant—not knowing she reached for her gun in the drawer, not the rope by the bed… in either case, she was thwarted in her attempt and now had to debate whether she could take him on.

‘I suggest you step away, sir, before I scream,’ she growled in his face.

‘Have you been hiding Miss Wyndham?’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘If I find out…’

‘What’s it to you where she is?’ she spat, not showing how much he was hurting her.

‘The Earl is missing her greatly. He would be grateful to whomever rescued her from her captivity.’

‘No one is keeping her captive,’ Charlotte lied, knowing Cecilia was listening to every word. But she WASN’T keeping her captive… aside from the past three minutes! ‘I believe if Miss Wyndham is alive, she is perfectly happy and doesn’t need you or the Earl or anyone else to interfere in her life.’

‘Tell me where--!?’

‘Charlotte!?’ someone said in the open doorway.

She had never been so relieved for her brother. Queensberry let go of her arm and faced Edward.

‘What are you doing here, sir?’ he asked.

‘I could ask you the same thing,’ Edward replied, his fist clenched by his side.

‘We were just chatting with the lady…’

Charlotte scoffed. ‘We weren’t, he was accusing me of hiding Miss Wyndham,’ she told Edward. ‘You remember her?’ she pretended further.

‘Yes, we were all very sad when she went missing,’ Edward replied to support her.

‘I was simply trying to help solve a grave mystery,’ Queensberry quipped.

‘By pushing into a lady’s room?’ Edward challenged him. ‘At six fifteen in the morning?’

‘And what has compelled you, sir, to push into her room just the same?’ Queensberry asked, thinking himself clever.

‘She is my sister,’ Edward replied.

Queensberry’s face fell. ‘Ah. Mr Edward Drummond, is it not? I read all about you in the papers last year. Shame about Sir Robert Peel. But how heroic of you.’

Edward ignored his flattery and kept advancing on him slowly so he changed his tune.

‘Lucky you are here. What should find you wandering the women’s corridor at this early hour? I wonder, such a hero must be so popular with ladies – I seem to remember you dancing with many maiden guests last night…’

The insinuation was clear.

‘I was just coming to… borrow a book from Charlotte,’ he said, not wanting to reveal he’d come because they had travel plans, inevitably having to reveal their destination.

She caught his meaningful look and handed her the nearest book she had lying around.

‘See, she’s had my copy of,’ Edward read the title as he spoke, ‘Anatomy Studies on the Female Re—’ _Reproductive System_ , he read but saved face just in time: ‘—tina. Retina.’

‘Ret-na?’ Queensberry interrogated him, confused. He was illiterate, such was Edward’s luck.

‘Retina. Yes. It’s, uh, a part of the eye.’

‘There is a whole book on that? About the female eye?’

‘Yes, it’s a fascinating new field of medicine.’

‘I didn’t know you were a student of medicine. I thought you were in government.’

‘Never hurts to broaden one’s interests,’ Edward said, shooting Charlotte a vexed look.

She shrugged it off behind Queensberry.

‘Oh well, I suppose it is useful to examine the female eye,’ Queensberry snarled nastily. ‘It may not be as apt at spotting the obvious as men’s vision.’

‘I can assure you my sister’s eyesight is perfect,’ Edward retorted coldly.

‘How come, then, that she failed to see her friend Lady Hilda’s wig slip last night even as she was dancing with her? It revealed red hair, exactly like this hairbrush contains, and coincidentally, exactly like that of Miss Wyndham from my memories of her. Funny Miss Drummond didn’t see this, whereas I could tell even from the distance of the garden. Perhaps she should get her eyesight checked by doctors.’

‘I think I should recognise Miss Wyndham’s face if I saw it daily, no matter what disguise she wore for whatever reason,’ Charlotte reasoned defiantly.

‘You see Lady Hilda daily? How marvellous! Where is this dear friend of yours now? I was told she slept in this room, with Miss Drummond, though as far as I know, there would have been enough rooms in this castle for all guests individually. You must be closer than close.’

‘You seem to know a lot about it all, why don’t you go and talk to the inspector yourself?’ she asked, and upon Edward’s frown, sighed inwardly. ‘There is no inspector here at all, is there?’

‘Not to my knowledge, no,’ Edward said, now really rounding on Queensberry, who scurried out the door. ‘Alright, the jig is up, sir, thank you for your visit, alas, your meddling has not succeeded, thus we bid you goodbye.’

And he slammed the door in his face. They listened and Lord John seemed to have been spotted. Some ladies, who were going down for an early breakfast were shocked to see him and he fled the corridor.

A small whimper sounded from the closet and Charlotte was there in a flash. Edward was shocked to see a very shaken and pale Cecilia emerge. Charlotte helped her out, sat her on the sill and opened up a window.

‘Not too close, she’ll be seen,’ Edward warned, but Cecilia needed some fresh air and openness.

‘Shh, my love, do not worry, he’s gone, you’re out, I’m so sorry I had to do this,’ Charlotte cooed apologetically to her, kissing her hair and making sure she was breathing well.

‘What was this about?’ Edward asked. Charlotte filled him in on the missing details. ‘Well, I say. Why did you open the door?’

‘I was an idiot, I thought I could get rid of him better face to face,’ she said. ‘I would have if I could have got to my gun.’

‘Your what!?’

‘Shh, my love,’ Charlotte comforted Cecilia, who was bothered by his raised voice. ‘I procured a pistol when I took Cecilia home last year, purely for safety. Never used it, alright? I thought I’d bring the authorities upon us next if I hadn’t opened the door. He lied about an inspector waiting for me. I should never have believed him.’

‘No, the Queensberrys are not above sly tactics and brutish methods to get what they want.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Alfred’s told me all about them. He knows everything about everybody.’

‘Well, what a little gossipmonger you’ve become.’

‘Shush, you. I saved you from that brute.’

‘Yes, yes, yes, you, the hero, thank you,’ she huffed, in her odd way to thank him. He knew the more she tried to pretend the opposite, the more she was secretly grateful and relieved to be helped out. ‘Breathe, my dearest, breathe,’ she soothed Cecilia in the meantime, who was starting to get over her panic. ‘Why have you really come?’ she then asked Edward.

‘To ask whether you still wish to set out to travel this morning, given the ghastly weather, but I daresay I have got my answer already.’

‘Yes, I suppose we must leave without delay.’

Cecilia nodded in support.

‘I’ll tell Alfred,’ Edward said. ‘If I can find him! I have been looking for him all morning.’

‘Did you not sleep with him?’ she asked, bringing Edward to a blush. ‘I meant—oh, well, you know what I meant.’

‘After all the disasters, we thought we would be safe and stand the pain of one more night apart. I see you have not the same concern. No need to rub in your privileges, ladies.’

He was still amazed at the ignorance that allowed the ladies to share a bed without anyone batting an eye.

‘One of the very few!’ Charlotte retorted.

‘Yes, yes, I shall write a pamphlet for women’s rights. Just as soon as I’ve found my husband.’

Edward left Charlotte’s room and walked down the corridor, searching again, until he finally found Alfred on the staircase.

‘Ah, there you are! I’ve been looking for you for half an hour!’ Alfred chatted happily, skipping up the stairs with a big smile. ‘I missed you.’

Edward wished he could have swept Alfred up in his arms and kissed him good morning.

‘I was looking for you, too,’ he said instead, controlling himself.

‘Well, we must have chased and thus missed each other in our bid to find each other!’ Alfred laughed. ‘I was just wondering if we should travel later, you know, once the rain has let up. Oh, what have you got there? Should I have looked in the library?’ he asked, grabbing the book that was still in Edward’s hand. It perplexed him enormously. ‘Edward, is there something you’re not telling me…?’

Edward snatched it back, mortified. ‘It is Charlotte’s, I wasn’t in the library, I was in her room. But I wasn’t the first visitor…’

He explained all about the nasty encounter with Queensberry.

‘Lucky it’s raining. Lucky you were there,’ Alfred uttered darkly.

‘Indeed, but do you see? We ought not to delay our departure.’

Alfred nodded sadly. ‘I shall tell the valets to hold tight onto their umbrellas… Wait, Edward!’

‘Hm?’

‘May Michael come? I just thought…’

Edward smiled. ‘I’ve already convinced him. He was trying to sneak away at dawn. Not under my watch. Meet us at the servants’ entrance at a quarter to.’

Alfred patted Edward’s shoulder in lieu of kissing the life out of him. He knew he could rely on his husband to read his mind.


	34. Edward's Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adventures never stop. Edward reveals his surprise. Alfred and a quiet life seem to have a hard time mixing, though.

The valets were rather vexed throughout the voyage, being in the unfortunate position of traveling on the back of the rented carriage. By the time they reached their destination, no matter the precautions, they were drenched to the bone. Good thing they had each other to cuddle up to (and perhaps joke about petty revenge tactics).

They were driving down a long, curving path, so deep in the mud that they feared the carriage would topple or sink too deep to go on. It was laden with all those bags and eight people (three gentlemen, two ladies, two valets, and the groom). Though the gents and the ladies inside were dry, it was a bumpy ride even for them.

‘Edward?’ Alfred said waking up from a nap. The 6 a.m. start after dancing till late affected him rather a lot and it was already getting dark.

‘Ah! He lives!’ Charlotte rejoiced cheekily.

The others had all been fantastic at passing the time through the day’s coach ride north through Sterling and much further. Edward was used to early morning and so he was still going strong and glad to catch up with Michael. The ladies were keen to get to know him better too (and by proxy pry about Alfred’s “innocent” teenage years that Mr Walsh knew so much about!). They found Michael very well-natured and interesting, but also very shy and reserved, to the point of being apologetic about his existence. If it wasn’t for him “taking up space” in the carriage, he was sorry to “be a bother” to the valets who had to lug all that extra baggage; and was he not “spoiling” their vacation?; and really, they didn’t have to entertain him, he was happy if he could sit in a garden and read on his own.

‘Why, of course we shall entertain you,’ Cecilia told him at once. ‘I wish to leave such a good impression on you that you remember to invite us to your chateau in the Loire Valley. It sounds marvellous.’

‘It is,’ Michael said curtly. Alfred noticed his smile was a bit forced and he wasn’t keen on elaborating on it even though he had a lot to be proud about his estate. But then, what did he know? He slept through the day.

‘Edward,’ Alfred tried again, tugging on his coat sleeve even as he stretched his cramped shoulders. ‘I do not believe this is the right way.’

‘What makes you say that, my love?’ Edward asked him.

Michael went pink. He wasn’t used to this kind of talk before others, even with his wife. Suddenly, he was among not one but two same-sex couples and adjusting to it took some time.

‘I think I would recognise the scenery around Blair Castle,’ Alfred replied, shooting Edward a knowing look. ‘It has etched itself into my memory irretrievably, for many reasons... Alas, we seem to have diverted from the open road. We’re not stopping, are we? We can make it to Blair by nightfall if we press on.’

Edward bit back a smirk. The funny thing was it was mirrored on the other passengers’ faces as well.

‘We are not going to Blair Castle, Alfred,’ Edward told him. ‘Not just yet. This is the surprise. This is my estate.’

Alfred’s mouth fell open. He tried to see through the rainfall and the shrubbery by the road and spotted a turret in the distance.

‘Well! _Quelle surprise,_ truly!’

‘Do not worry, we are still quite close to Blair, where Her Majesty will be in a couple of weeks. You’ll be able to travel there and fulfil your duties, fear not. Remember where there was a spot perfect for fishing?’

‘I think I remember the site of our losing the Queen, yes!’

‘You pretended it wasn’t such a dangerous predicament for my sake.’

‘Well, you needed someone to calm you down! And to kiss.’

Edward blushed, remembering that torturous and yet amazing night.

‘Well, we are a few miles south, on the other side of the woods, well within a day’s journey. Look.’

The carriage left behind the bushy rows of mulberry and thistles. They were rolling uphill to a modestly sized country house built in the Scottish baronial style.

‘This is yours? Oh, what a rascal you are, keeping it a secret for so long! By God, but it’s incredible!’ Alfred said, glued to the window in a bid to see it better.

‘Don’t get too excited, it’s far from perfect. It’s practically an abandoned mansion with leaky roofs and creaky floorboards and it’s just enough to house us. But I wanted to show it to you while we’re here. I was thinking if we keep the yacht on the loch—’

‘There’s a loch?’

‘Why, yes, look, there.’

As the driveway wound around a steep hillside and after Alfred wiped the condensation off the window, they could see the vast expanse of water just short of licking the base of the castle.

‘But it is beautiful!’ Alfred uttered in wonder.

‘Thank you,’ Edward said bashfully. ‘Take your time admiring the castle from the outside. Indoors, it is a little less than splendid.’

‘A little!’ Charlotte laughed. ‘No one has lived in it for over fifty years. Edward’s only got it because the good houses went to our older brothers and Edward would always be bound to Westminster anyway. Don’t worry, we sent word to some villagers to clean it up as much as they can before our arrival but I’m afraid it would be a far larger undertaking to convince me to live here permanently… oops, have I said something?’ she feigned after a light kick from Edward.

Alfred caught on.

‘My God, you think we could?’ he asked Edward, immediately perking up with excitement.

‘You said you wanted to leave London,’ Edward said with a shrug.

Alfred positively glowed with amazement.

‘It seems remote,’ Edward continued modestly. ‘But I thought we could moor the yacht on the loch. The boathouse is in shambles but if we can sail whenever we like, we could travel south safely for important obligations always. Who knows? With the railway spreading, it may soon become even easier. I might invest in a line myself if it’s necessary.’

‘Oh, that’s splendid! Isn’t it splendid?’ Alfred rejoiced, shaking Michael’s arm for reassurance. ‘Did you all know about this? Michael?!’

‘Edward _may_ have mentioned it in one of his letters,’ he said, though avoiding Alfred’s eyes.

After an uphill battle with mud, they finally pulled up close to the heavy oak front doors. A housekeeper and a groundskeeper were waiting for them, ushering everyone inside, even the valets who were wet and shivering. Somehow, the bags were taken safely inside, the groom took the carriage around, and they closed the doors on the heavy rain at last.

Edward shook hands with the staff: Mr and Mrs Bell.

‘Apologies for the late arrival. The roads…’

‘Just as long as you’re come safely, Mr Drummond,’ Mrs Bell said kindly. ‘I know it is not my place to say but the last time I saw you, sir, you were a wee boy. How you’ve grown!’

Edward blushed at the motherly words and turned to Mr Bell, who was equally welcoming:

‘Good to see you in one piece, Mr Drummond!’ he chatted. ‘We were all very worried when you were injured.’

‘My brother’s made of sterner stuff than you think!’ Charlotte came up to greet them also. ‘Thank you for your letter again. It was so very kind of you.’

‘But it is wee Charlotte! Nearly didn’t recognise you! Oh, Miss Drummond, how delighted we are to see you again! How about a cuppa hot chocolate?’

‘I am not ten anymore, Mrs Bell… but yes, thank you, that would be delightful!’ Charlotte said, too tempted to say no to chocolate.

Wilson sneezed so heartily it made Cecilia jump.

‘Evidently, for all of us!’ Charlotte remarked.

‘Sorry, m’lady,’ the valet croaked as normally as he could.

‘Wood, please take him to bed and get warm,’ Lord Alfred asked and the shivering valets didn’t need to be told twice. ‘I shall make up to them somehow. Mr and Mrs Bell, is it not?’

Introductions were made, they changed for supper, and the rain could go hang! They sat in a downstairs room, where there was a giant, soot-stained fireplace, above which a gigantic sword was on display, as well as other, smaller but equally menacing-looking ones arranged in an arch around a cast-iron Drummond crest. The stone walls were panelled with dark wood on the bottom half. A few tapestries hang below the tall ceiling, which were in dire need of beating, renovation, or just being thrown on the bloody fire. There was a sense of medieval authority about the place, but all the furniture had long gone out of fashion, though not for the moths who had clearly taken a few bites out of it over the decades. There was an old fortepiano there that fascinated Michael, though it was a little out of tune.

Edward and Charlotte hadn’t lied about the discomfort. It was difficult to keep the castle heated even in the main areas. They all hoped the bedrooms upstairs would be easier, but not by much. Alfred dreaded to think how the servants’ quarters looked as he tiptoed across the creaky landing to Edward’s room and on cold floorboards to the bed, shivering until Edward’s body heat warmed him up. Though the bedclothes were new, the mattresses needed replacing, the windows needed sealing, and the ghosts needed to be told to stuff it for all the strange creaky noises they made throughout the night.

Alfred denied having nightmares but cuddled closer to Edward between the sheets for totally unrelated reasons.

However, despite all that was wrong with the building, and the spooky night, he fell in love with the place as soon as the sun came out the next day. He ventured outside. The air couldn’t have been fresher, and the loch was no longer being beaten by the rainfall. The sun was just rising over the hills and mountains, casting a beautiful glow on the valley and sparkling in gold on the surface of the water. The castle didn’t seem so gloomy as its windows reflected the warm morning light.

‘Mornin’! I heard ya like to ride, m’lord,’ Mr Bell said to him. ‘I readied the horses if you want them. Figured you’d like to explore the grounds.’

‘Thank you, Bell! Right away, I should think! Make the most of this sun while it lasts, should we not?’

‘Aye, that’s the spirit, m’lord!’

The ladies preferred to rest in their room until late and Michael said it ought to be something to do on their own, so Edward and Alfred rode out and spent the day assessing the land. Alfred challenged Edward to race him many times – outriding him until he was out of breath just wasn’t the same in Hyde Park.

Finally, he slowed down when Edward begged for mercy. They stopped on a high spot overlooking the grounds and the loch.

‘It is not Grosvenor Place,’ Edward said apologetically. ‘I think the only way it can be made liveable by our standards is if we extended it with a new wing and modern facilities and everything we need, including, I thought, um, some private passages and perhaps even adjoined rooms, so that we never have to worry about keeping up appearances, as long as we reside here, even if we have guests and more staff who are not kept in the know.’

Alfred was silent, which worried Edward.

‘I know it’s a bit grim,’ he continued a bit dejectedly. ‘After all, I have my address in London, and your house is more than perfect for our needs. We don’t really have to do this for a second. We could be off to Blair tomorrow if you really find it all that uncomfortable. After all, there are only six bedrooms. And it’s cold for most of the year, and that’ll never change, no matter how much money I throw at it. And the garden is a mess, and there is no running hot water, and loch freezes over in the winter and—’

‘I love it,’ Alfred interrupted.

He got off his horse, and so did Edward.

‘Truly?’ Edward asked. ‘Won’t you feel cut off from the glamour of London? Won’t you find it boring? Won’t you get bored of me here? It’d be just you and me and the rain…’

‘Edward, I have spent my life in ballrooms and clubs and tacky drawing rooms of odious snobs. I may have fitted into that world for a long time, but I feel I have exhausted all that. Well exhausted! My priorities have altered. I think I have also come to the realisation that if I want to be with you without some godawful new threat to our love every waking day, we have to build a refuge somewhere.’

‘But what about France? The weather would be kinder.’

‘Quite. Alas… I would prefer it to be at home, rather than trust that France will always be there. After all, what if they do revolt against the aristocracy, i.e. myself? What if we go to war with them again?’

‘You sound like your father.’

‘And? Papa is a great man.’

‘So he is. But I thought you wanted adventure.’

‘This is an adventure! Everything is always an adventure when I am with you!’ Alfred said, placing a loud kiss on Edward’s cheek, which made him giggle. ‘Far too much of an adventure in the past year, really. Thinking back... that night we first went to my house… it was the night before you were shot. I should have known then. It was a sign. What was I thinking, really? That we could live happily ever after right under the nose of the Palace and the Parliament and the best police in the country? We’ll still go to London for the season, to be sure. I know you wouldn’t be satisfied if we were here all the time either. You’ll not give up on your career for me. For that purpose, I shall keep my address in Grosvenor Place. But I have to face it, I am getting old…’

‘You are not—’

‘Older, anyway. So, I should love to build a home. With you. Why not here?’

‘It’s so far from everything.’

‘Anglesey is also ridiculously hard to approach but the commute has never caused too much vexation for my family.’

‘But…’

‘How come I am doing the convincing now?!’ Alfred laughed, tugging on Edward’s lapels playfully. ‘Is that not your job? Come, Edward. It’ll be our own little nest that’s safe, and far away from all harm. I want this, Edward. I want you. I want this chilly castle and these unworked lands and this awful weather – seriously, it’s not even raining but we’re wet! How!?’

Edward laughed and shook his dripping wet curls free like a dog.

‘But we are free,’ Alfred said upon that delightful sight, breathing in the fresh Highland air. ‘That’s worth more than all the glamour London can offer.’

‘Even more than the oysters and champagne at Ciro’s?’

‘You know, I never took you there to taste them.’

‘I should like to taste your lips at the moment, please, and thank you!’

Edward’s wish was gladly granted. Alfred broke away all too soon though, to glance around for safety.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, laughing at himself somewhat sadly. ‘We are out here with not a soul for miles and still I watch my back.’

‘You don’t have to be afraid here,’ Edward said, rubbing his nose against Alfred’s.

‘Not of Mr and Mrs Bell, even? That rickety landing last night… my heart was racing!’

‘They are no danger to us.’

Alfred pulled away. ‘You sound awfully confident.’

Edward pulled a face and scratched his head.

‘Alfred, did you know our valets… well… they, uh…?’

Alfred smirked. ‘Yes, I do know.’

‘How? And don’t say you just knew!’

‘I found them sleeping together, that morning that Sir Robert… and Cecilia filled me in on the details, having seen far more as a “housemaid”. Lucky Wood, he was in a thousand miseries! I feel quite bad Wilson’s down with a cold again.’

‘Right. Fair. But. Um. That’s just the thing. Last night, Mrs Bell took some soup and hot chocolate up to his room, but Wood was already there and then Wood told me and… Point is, we do not have to fear Mr and Mrs Bell. Their son was the same. They are sympathetic.’

‘Oh? Good. I mean, no, not good, it’s just a… Hang on. “Was?” What happened?’

‘I didn’t want to pry.’

‘No, of course, it’s not our business, sorry, no gossiping, I promised. Well, how sad. But for us, I am relieved. Relieved? Look at me! I haven’t breathed this easily for so long!’

Edward swept Alfred off his feet with an enormous kiss and held him.

‘If it is truly what you want.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Alfred said, before Edward could engulf him in more hugs and kisses. ‘What I want: we will definitely need hot water, carpets, new mattresses, definitely a new wing, I thought opening from the north-western façade, and I want a joint suite in a south or south-west facing direction, and you’re right, we shall design secret passageways, of course, and then the gardens need a thorough mowing before I can ask Mama to help plan it, in fact, I’ll ask Michael to weigh in, and the driveway must have a good shearing and paving and—’

Alfred talked until they walked back to the castle. The mood upon their arrival was strange.

‘What’s the matter, Wood?’ Edward asked while he handed him his riding coat and hat in the entrance hall. ‘You seem troubled.’

The valet looked awfully grim indeed.

‘It’s Dan—Wilson, sir. He’s not well.’

‘Not well as in sneezing a lot or _not well_?’ Lord Alfred asked.

‘Not well, my lord.’

‘Show us to him at once.’

They went all the way upstairs to the attic rooms. The walls were of grey plaster here and it was just as draughty as elsewhere in the castle. Wilson was truly out with a cold. He was also wheezing and his forehead glistening with sweat. Cecilia was sitting with him.

‘He’s burning up,’ she said worriedly.

‘I ought to ride to village for a doctor without haste,’ Edward volunteered at once.

‘Let me, I’m faster,’ Alfred offered.

‘You don’t know where it is,’ Edward reasoned. He kissed Alfred on the cheek and hurried down the hallway. ‘I’ll be fine. I know a shortcut.’

‘Take the groom with you at least!’ Alfred shouted after him, who knew to what avail. He turned back to those in the room. ‘Wood, whilst Mr Drummond is gone, let us get Wilson into my room.’

‘Sir?!’

‘Just as I said, man.’

‘But your lordship…’

‘Good grief, Wood, just do as I say. It’s not like I sleep in it anyway,’ Alfred said with soldierly decisiveness. ‘There is no point in poor Wilson suffering the drafts up here. Come, help me.’

With some effort, they carried Wilson downstairs and lay him in the magnificent, old, oak four-poster bed in what was supposed to be Alfred’s bedchamber.

‘Where’s Mr Walsh?’ Alfred asked once they were done.

‘In the garden, I believe, m’lord,’ Wood replied. ‘Shall I fetch him?’

‘No. You just stay here with Wilson. Ring for Mrs Bell for anything. Do not be shy or modest. My orders.’

Wood, though shocked, was quite touched. ‘Th-thank you, m’lord.’

Alfred nodded at him in reassurance and left to find Michael. He ran into him just on the landing, carrying a basket of herbs and roots.

‘Michael! There you are. What’s that?’

‘For the sick valet,’ Michael replied kindly. ‘There’s elderberry and ginger in here, both excellent for the respiration. Mrs Bell is bringing up the hot water in a minute.’

‘You are a godsend,’ Alfred rejoiced, kissing Michael’s cheek in relief, which made him ever so flustered.

However, they heard a sob down the hallway and discovered it to be Cecilia, who was crying in Charlotte’s arms in their own bedroom.

‘It’s my fault,’ Cecilia wept miserably. ‘We travelled in the wretched rain because of me. I should have been considerate. I was just so scared of Queensberry…’

‘It is not your fault,’ Charlotte said, and Alfred echoed her. ‘Where’s Edward?’ she then asked.

‘Gone to the village for a doctor,’ Alfred replied.

‘How?’

‘Horseback, I think.’

‘What, alone?!’

‘I told him to take the groo--- why, what’s wrong, Charlotte?!’ Alfred asked, horrified to see her getting her coat so he had to take over rocking Cecilia to comfort her.

‘He’s an idiot,’ Charlotte explained in a hurry. ‘Knowing him, he’ll take a shortcut through the woods where he once had a concussion from a fall. I’ll get him back safely and then kill him myself.’

And she swept out of the room in a flair of rage.

‘And he said this would be a boring life!’ Alfred exclaimed as Cecilia collapsed on his lap and wept on.


	35. The Cliff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson can't quite imagine Wood's ambitious plans for the future. Edward, Alfred, and Michael revisit a nostalgic site but highs turn into lows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of suicidal thoughts.

Alfred tiptoed into the salon without a sound. He was barefoot and wearing nightclothes as he only came to investigate (wishing he had his sword in case it _was_ a ghost).

He had heard the same D-sharp for the past 10 minutes, preceded by a D for ten, and a C-sharp and he would be lying if he wasn’t as vexed as intrigued. However, it wasn’t the spirit of a medieval Drummond forever doomed to haunt the musical instrument. It was Michael. Alfred found him bent over the fortepiano, with a sort of hammer and a wedge in his hands and such a concentrated expression on his face that Alfred scarcely needed to try and remain unnoticed.

‘Sounds fine to me,’ he said, having snuck just a foot behind Michael, who jumped.

‘Goodness!’

‘How long have you been at it? Dawn?’

‘Did I wake you?’ Michael asked apologetically.

‘No, the creaking floorboards did. I got up to make certain you have not slipped away without a word as you seem so eager to. Is it the food? Is it Cecilia’s manic temperament?’

‘I HEARD THAT!’ Charlotte shouted from the top of the stairs. She was just going down to an early breakfast.

Alfred closed the door gently.

‘She’s still angry because Edward risked his neck to get the doctor. Well? Why so sad?’

Michael left the piano alone and hang his head, found out.

‘I feel like a spare part, Alfred. I should never have accompanied you here. You are so happy, which is excellent, but I only feel I dampen the mood.’

‘How? You have no chance to bring down anyone’s mood, since you barely sit with us for longer than a meal’s duration. Michael, I know we are not seventeen anymore but I know when a friend needs my help and I think you do. I mean to keep my word and cheer you up, no matter how much you fight me.’

‘Stubborn as ever, I see.’

Alfred cracked up, which brought a little smile on Michael’s face, too.

‘I think you need taking out of yourself,’ Alfred declared. ‘Why don’t you ride out with us today? Edward is going to show me the path through the woods towards Blair Castle. If we are to spend a considerable amount of time here, it never hurts to get acquainted with the scenery. It would do you good, you’ll see.’

‘What about Miss—’

‘The ladies are staying here in case Wilson’s condition worsens as Cecilia feels responsible. He’s never been a good traveller, poor chap. At any rate, I should hate to think we’re leaving you to wander about in this castle all alone all day once again.’

‘I’m fine left to my own devices. I must finish tuning this thing and there is plenty to do in the garden…’

Lord Alfred had to use his last weapon.

‘Stop looking at me like that,’ Michael asked him.

Alfred stepped closer, giving him more of those big, blue eyes and pouting.

‘Stop, Alfred…’

Alfred did not relent.

Michael sighed.

*

Wood overslept on the fine, old, four-poster bed. Lord Alfred had complained about the mattresses in the rooms, he didn’t know why. This was perfectly comfortable. He was also pleased to see that the invalid was stirring, and sniffing something in the air.

‘Hngg-I’ll be down in a jiffy, your lordship…’ Wilson muttered hazily.

‘Danny? Danny? Can you hear me?’

Wilson smiled. ‘Walt, you rascal. I’ll get his lordship’s clothes.’

‘What are you saying? Are you unwell in the head?’ Wood asked, checking Wilson’s temperature.

However, Wilson opened his eyes and seemed to be far from delirious.

‘I said I’ll get them. You reek of oranges, Walt,’ he said with his usual humour and that’s how Wood knew he got him back. He hugged him so tight Wilson began coughing again.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Wood said at once. ‘Here, have some water. There you go. Better?’

‘Much better. Uh… where am I?’

‘It’s not his lordship’s shirts you’re smelling. He had us put you up in his bedroom.’

‘Not like he sleeps here, does he?’ Wilson remarked and Wood cracked up despite having been worried out of his wits all night.

‘That’s what he said.’

‘Ha,’ Wilson laughed, though another coughing fit bothered him. ‘Well, that was awful kind of him.’

‘They’ve let me be here, too. Not all the time, of course – I’ll have to go downstairs soon, I can’t let Mr and Mrs Bell wash all the gentlemen’s things. They wouldn’t know how.’

‘You’ll have to use my special solution for his lordship’s small things with the lace—’

‘Shush, I know. Now rest easy.’

Wilson didn’t need telling twice. He had never been this comfortable in his life. He was in a proper room, with linen on the bed that would have cost him weeks of work to afford. The fire was going. Most of all, however, he was glad he had his Walter there with him.

‘You’d better get me something nice from those extra wages you’re pocketing,’ he teased. ‘Wouldn’t mind a fancy room like this more often, me.’

Wood grinned at that and cuddled close to Wilson.

‘You know, the day might just come. Mr Drummond once told me he’d give me a house as big as his lordship’s if I helped him sail to Wales. And I did. So.’

Wilson looked up at his friend and promptly burst into laughing.

‘What?’ Wood asked.

At that point, Miss Wyndham stepped in and Wood jumped to his feet.

‘I heard noises—oh. How is the invalid?’ she asked, seeing quite clearly and much to her relief that Wilson was well. More than well. She placed a tray of tea on the bedside table and checked the valet’s temperature even while he had the giggles. ‘Well, that’s reassuring. Is this the effect of Mr Walsh’s witch’s brew? Or something stronger? At seven in the morning?’

‘I’m afraid he’s just laughing at me, ma’am,’ Wood explained, trying to take it with a sense of humour.

‘In that case, I shall leave you to it. If anyone’s looking for us, Miss Drummond and I are walking to the village for ink and lunch.’

Wilson finally stopped laughing when she left.

‘Very funny,’ Wood said dryly as he sat back on the bed, though he couldn’t be truly vexed.

‘Well, I’d like to see that!’ Wilson replied. ‘It’d be something. You in a big house.’

‘Why not?’ Wood asked, sitting up straighter.

‘Well, what’d you put in it? Your one broken chair and five books?’

‘I might surprise you.’

‘Blimey, you’re a bit serious, aren’t you?’ Wilson said, sitting up gingerly and coughing off his laughter. ‘Tell me, then, Mr Wood. What would you actually do with a grand old house like that?’

‘I would make a hotel out of it. A real fancy one, for lords and ladies, princes, and ambassadors – folk I know how to cater to. So that I’d never have to worry, they’d pay more than fairly for their stay. It’d be in Mayfair – it’s becoming more and more fashionable, innit? Red brick, park view, a ground floor restaurant glittering of crystal and gilded candelabras.’

‘You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?’

‘One must have dreams.’

Wilson smiled. ‘You’ve always been mighty ambitious. I can see it, too. You, the big butler of the place. No more scrubbing shoes. No more draughty attic rooms. You’d have all your staff to order about. It’d suit you. I suppose you’d get married, too.’

Wood started at that. ‘Why d’you say that?’

‘Well… you might… Get settled, all respectable, the king of your realm. You’ll do well for yourself, you will.’

‘I think I already have.’

‘Ah, come on, Walt, don’t be daft.’

‘What’s daft about this?’

‘If you owned a splendid house like that, you wouldn’t want me around. A simple valet. That is if I ever had the guts to give up serving Lord Alfred—I’m lucky, I’d be a fool and a beggar soon enough. No, you’ll be a proper gentleman, or as good as.’

‘But… Danny, I… but I would…I really l—’

Lord Alfred stepped in without knocking, dressed for riding. Wood jumped on his feet again.

‘Morning, Wood! Oh, no, don’t stand up, this is an informal visit, please. Now! Miss Wyndham said you were awake, Wilson!’ he said, energetically stepping to the bed. ‘Ah, but you look far better indeed!’

‘I’ll be on my feet in a bit, m’lord,’ Wilson said, stifling a cough.

‘Nonsense! I forbid you to _think_ about work until you are perfectly well. We are looked after nicely enough by Mr and Mrs Bell. And you, you are in good hands with Wood, I daresay. Besides, we are riding out today. All of us. Well, Messers Drummond and Walsh and myself. I do not expect we shall be back before dinner. If you could just lay out clean evening attires, Wood, we shall get into them without assistance when we get back. Now, I must hurry before Mr Walsh weasels out of it.’

‘Very good, m’lord,’ Wood said and nodded. ‘Thank you. Truly.’

‘Don’t mention it. Now. Chin up,’ Alfred quipped, tapped the wood of the bed, and swept out of the room enthusiastically.

*

‘…And that’s where Her Majesty and Prince Albert wandered off without a map, or a care for poor Edward’s nerves,’ Alfred explained as he, Edward, and Michael were riding down a path towards the river.

‘Where were they found?’ Michael asked.

‘In some farmers’ cottage, miles away! Edward nearly wrote to Sir Robert but luckily, they were found, and he needed to be none the wiser. May he rest in peace – at least I never agonised him with this in his life. That’s something,’ Alfred added sadly.

‘Do you fish?’ Edward asked Michael, to change the subject.

‘Occasionally,’ Michael replied. ‘I confess I do not much like the sight of struggling animals. Does that make me too soft for Scotland?’

‘You don’t have to be anything you’re not for us, Michael,’ Alfred told him kindly. ‘RACE TO THE TOP OF THE CLIFF!’ he then said suddenly and got a head-start while the others got over their surprise and chased him.

They reached the tiny clearing on top of the cliff-edge where Alfred and Edward had once had an unusually intimate conversation about the Iliad. So much had happened since then, and Edward no longer thought about jumping.

He did, however noticed Alfred lost his hat.

‘What does a hat matter when we’re racing!?’ Alfred shrugged it off.

‘Wood shall be the one to clean it, Alfred,’ Edward reasoned.

‘For which I compensate him fairly.’

‘Isn’t he already doing the other valet’s tasks?’ Michael asked.

‘Goodness gracious, I see I am outnumbered! You be nice, I shall go fetch it, it must be at the foot of the path.’

‘Let me,’ Edward offered, turning his horse around.

‘Are you trying to be gallant?’

‘What if I am?’ Edward flirted back.

‘You already have all of my heart. I’m not sure what else I can give you… but I’ll think of something.’

‘Stop scandalising Mr Walsh,’ Edward warned amusedly, upon Michael’s embarrassment. ‘I shall be right back.’

‘I have missed this,’ Alfred said after Edward had disappeared down the path. ‘The grounds are steeper than Wales but I like a challenge. Moreover, I like beating my friends! Are you feeling better now? Or are you counting the hours until you can get back to tuning the fortepiano in peace?’

‘This is nice,’ Michael said, with a smile that was only a little bit forced. Progress.

Alfred suggested to Michael that they climb up a tree. There was a massive oak towering over a bend in the path, which had a thick, low-hanging branch that seemed the perfect spot to rest. They tied the horses to the bottom. Michael went first.

‘Do you think it’s a mad idea?’ Alfred asked, following him.

‘Climbing this tree? Probably.’

‘No, I mean setting up home here,’ Alfred said with a laugh. They shared a sip of whisky out of his flask and took in their surroundings from this angle. ‘Truth is, I cannot wait. It’ll be years before we finish improving it, of course. I apologise in advance for all the times I shall swamp you with letters begging for your advice on the building and the garden. Besides, I hardly know what excuse to give to Her Majesty, short of handing in my resignation, but I’ll think of something. And then, after you’ve honed Cecilia’s less than subtle hints for an invitation to the Loire, you could come here from time to time. I mean to make it a refuge for us but also for all my friends.’

‘You’ve hardly any need for other friends when you’ve got Edward,’ Michael remarked truthfully.

Alfred lingered on that defeated posture of his friend’s.

‘I wonder why you’ve come to have such a low opinion of yourself of late,’ he said. ‘You have had such successes in your life. Indeed, many a time I lie in bed with you on my mind and envy in my chest. How lucky you are to be so settled and safe! I haven’t felt that way since I was too young to read.’

‘I suppose the risks are worth it.’

‘No question,’ Alfred replied without hesitation. ‘I would never have noticed if it weren’t for him, you know: months ago, already, Edward got the impression that you may be a bit _fatigued_.’

‘I’m not tired.’

‘Melancholic, I mean. And I am sad to say he was right.’

Michael avoided Alfred’s eyes.

‘He is right, is he not?’ Alfred nudged more very gently as his friend seemed in rather a fragile state indeed. ‘It isn’t merely the voyage that has worn you out. Look, I know should have written more—’

‘It is not that. Both of you have been immensely kind to me.’

‘Well, Edward’s written far more than I, all the same. I feel bad. But here we are now: Alfred and Michael sitting in a tree!’ he tried to joke but Michael was still looking positively tragic. Alfred placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Michael, seriously, what’s wrong? How miserable you seem! You are not saying something, and I wonder what.’

‘You cannot help, Alfred,’ Michael said, admitting to there being a problem at last. ‘Why burden you?’

‘You are not a burden.’

‘I ought not to spoil your trip.’

‘You are not ill, are you?’ Alfred jumped to this worst of conclusions.

‘No. I am perfectly healthy.’

‘Is there a doctor you can see in France?’

‘I said I am fine.’

‘Someone to heal _the mind_.’

‘I am not insane, Alfred. Please. Besides, I could never confess this to anyone, either to doctor or priest.’

Michael was tormented and eyed the depth below to see if he could jump but it was not high enough.

‘Michael, I will not push you but I am here,’ Alfred said gently. ‘I’m here, whatever it is.’

Under Alfred’s earnest gaze, Michael’s defences crumbled.

‘Oh, Alfred!’ he burst out, fresh tears coming to him quickly. ‘How I’ve wanted you to be there!’

The next second he was sobbing in Alfred’s arms, hiding his face for shame.

‘Michael? Talk to me, what happened? Is it troubles on your estate?’ Alfred tried, guessing lamely, and Michael could but shake his head. ‘Your wife?’ he guessed again, resulting in another pang and sobs from Michael, who still shook his head, nevertheless. ‘Your children? Your girls.’

‘My daughters are fine, Alfred,’ he spoke, his voice pained and hollow as his sobs subsided. ‘In fact, Isabelle gave birth in the spring. It was a boy.’

Alfred inclined his head.

‘Was?’ he asked, fearing the implication.

Michael’s face said it all and Alfred’s heart ached for him. Apparently his third child, a son, sadly passed away just two months old. Alfred held him close, and for a while, they just mourned together on that tree branch until Michael’s sobs subsided.

‘I’m sorry for insisting on you staying longer. Now I see why you wanted to go home.’

‘No, no, I… it’s good. It’s good here,’ Michael said weakly leaning against Alfred’s shoulder.

‘Get it out. There, there. All of it,’ he comforted him. ‘At least your daughters are happy and healthy.’

At that, Michael’s gaze turned upwards to the sky as if in prayer and Alfred worried he said something wrong.

‘I-I’m sorry! One never knows what to say in such times,’ he stammered in apology.

‘No, what you say is very kind, Alfred. What Isabelle said was rather less comforting. She said,’ Michael stopped to breathe lest he succumbed to its weight again. ‘She said perhaps the next one will be a boy, too. No—do not think she was unfeeling. She meant well. Only, I feel terrible, Alfred, because to tell you the honest and selfish truth, for those two months that my son lived, I was relieved. Relieved for _myself_. Relieved that I could leave that part of my life behind. I am damned, Alfred—no, do not say anything to the contrary, I know I am. I swear to the Lord, I did not marry her under false pretences, I swear to God! I really thought it would be alright. I even convinced myself for a little, particularly when you did not take any notice of my wedding, that what I had felt for you was youthful foolishness, and I was finally growing out of it, mind, body, and soul. How wrong was I! You envy me? Don’t. I envy you more. How lucky you are, how lucky Edward is! I don’t envy your hardships and your risks, but I envy you the pain. Because mine is entirely in the wrong direction. It is one thing to deprive oneself of real, natural love, but to force a false kind is quite another. It does things to one’s soul that are… Others may be able to do this, but I was not prepared for this, any of this, and Isabelle expects me to go on as any husband would and none of the fault is hers, all is mine.’

Michael sniffed heartily, his gaze so hollow it scared Alfred.

‘And so, when my boy died, aside from feeling tremendous grief for him, I am deeply and irredeemably ashamed to admit I felt sorry for myself also. I thought, oh, no, I thought I was free of… all that. Of her. Who thinks that, Alfred?’

‘By God, Michael, you should have said.’

‘How?! Not in writing, I couldn’t. And what excuse could I give to travel? This wedding, it was barely one. I endured the judgement of Isabelle’s whole tribe for coming to Scotland as it is, I dread to think what they’ll be like when I arrive weeks later than agreed upon.’

Alfred hang his head. He knew all too well how catastrophic it could be if a bit of writing, whether a single letter or an entire diary, got into the wrong hands. He could not, however, imagine the isolation Michael had faced for a decade.

‘I wish I could help.’

‘You have helped, immensely, though I do not deserve it. I am a despicable human being, selfish, awful…’

‘No!’

‘I cannot tell you how glad I am that you invited me here. It is such a relief, too—and there, again, my selfishness knows no bounds!’

‘You are not selfish, Michael.’

‘But I am. Edward is such a fine young man, and he invites me here and he’s such a superb friend and here I am… so selfish…’

‘No, you’re n—’

Alfred was cut off because Michael kissed him.

Alfred thought Edward’s friendship was excellent for Michael but, apparently, it also a catalyst of further guilt. He still nurtured tender feelings for Alfred.

 _Did he, though?_ Alfred did not think it was love – yes, there was love between them, in the past and the present, but it could not have been the kind of love that was between Alfred and Edward, simply because Michael and Alfred had drifted so far away for years and years. Therefore, if Michael was in love, it was with the idea, the memory of an Alfred that no longer existed. Indeed, what he wanted was not really Alfred – it was anyone willing to hold him and make him feel like he was free to love again.

Given Michael’s extremely delicate state, Alfred did not push or shout or shake him off. But he did not kiss back. What could have been a tense moment lost steam like a popped balloon descending pathetically back to earth. Ten years since Michael had kissed anyone, Alfred, out of love, but he did not get the gratification he hoped for, so he pulled away, ashamed.

Alfred tried not to look offended or hostile in any way for Michael’s sake, but the truth was that he was loyal to Edward and did not reciprocate anything but friendship for Michael. They could just forget about it.

He was going to suggest just that but sharp hooves sounded below and Alfred had just got a glimpse of chestnut curls bouncing away as the horse galloped downhill.

‘Edward.’

Alfred was climbing down the tree sooner than he uttered his love’s name again. He nearly tripped over some branches in his haste to catch up with Edward, whose horse luckily did not do well on steep slopes.

‘Edward! Wait! You’ll hurt yourself!’

Sure enough, Edward could not control his horse and struggled to stay in the saddle as it tripped on enormous roots and slippery, damp pine needles. This gave Alfred an advantage and he blocked the horse’s way before Edward could get back to the pathway and leave him behind, or worse, actually come to harm.

‘Give way, Alfred.’ Edward asked in a voice he wished was harsher. ‘There’s your hat,’ he added, throwing it at Alfred before moving to direct the horse onwards.

‘Don’t you dare,’ Alfred warned, not wanting another Sir Robert.

‘I have seen enough,’ Edward said coldly.

‘You could not have seen anything.’

‘You were _kissing_.’

‘No,’ Alfred insisted firmly, grabbing hold of the struggling horse, his touch calming it immediately. ‘ _He_ kissed me, and if you’d stayed for five more seconds, you’d have seen it was a mistake and that I did not kiss back, for I _have_ no desire to.’

‘He must have had a reason.’

‘Yes, he did!’

‘So you do not deny that you encouraged him?!’

‘I certainly did no such thing!’

‘You were holding him in your arms!’ Edward pointed out, extremely hurt.

‘I was comforting him!’ Alfred insisted more, stepping over a large branch so as to grab hold of Edward’s riding trousers and keep him in place. ‘What was I supposed to do, push him off the tree?!’

‘Why were you in a tree at all?’

‘I wasn’t aware it was forbidden!’ Alfred retorted indignantly but swallowed his pride for the sake of making peace. ‘Listen, you were right, my love. He is living grave days, very grave indeed.’

‘And so you _had_ to kiss him? There was no other _possible_ way to—’

‘For the last time, I didn’t—look, he’s been hit by such a tragedy!’

‘Oh, really, how so?’ Edward asked as if challenging why that should mean one can kiss another.

‘His new-born son _died_ , as a matter of fact.’

Edward meant to argue more but the very thought was too devastating for words. He stopped pulling on the reins and got off.

‘Michael had a son?’

‘And it passed away,’ Alfred repeated horribly, in hushed tones. ‘He is devastated, Edward. He flagellates himself as well, for perfectly natural thoughts about what this means for his own life. He’s always been prone to clawing at himself as it is, so fatalistic by nature. And now his wife is pestering him to try for another boy. You cannot imagine his misery, nor can I. As for the… it was just a moment of weakness, forgive him. I did not think he was in the right state to be chided and reproached, particularly when he nurtures such self-deprecation about his own… _self_. Imagine how it would have crushed him, and for nothing.’

Edward stood and he wanted to argue but it didn’t seem right. He was picking at the rim of his hat, digesting all this information

‘I… I do forgive him…’ he muttered reluctantly. ‘And you… I mean there is nothing to forgive.’

But then, he stopped fidgeting as he felt a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach.

‘But Alfred… if Michael is prone to… thoughts of… if he is truly feeling as wretched as you say…’

Alfred glanced up at Edward sharply, paling.

‘The cliff.’

Off they rode, uphill through the woods, hoping to find Michael before it was too late.


	36. Providence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting turns Michael's world upside down. It's a big world! And yet such a small one...
> 
> Sorry, Alfred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I know it got a bit Titanic but SHUSH, if it ain't broke...

Michael had indeed fled to the only place he saw as the next step, that step being off the edge of the cliff above a depth that would surely lead to his demise.

What a place to choose for this act… he stared into the abyss below him, knowing that Hell would be where he landed. All he had done to save his soul hardly mattered. He was damned– for his lies to his wife, his betrayal of his friends, and all that love he had wasted. He had so much love to give but he missed his chance and lived an entirely false life, betraying his God-given nature. He had contemplated this before, but he was never quite as equipped to act on it. One small step. Everyone would be better off without him. His existence was a mistake. No matter how much he filled his days with things to do, such thoughts would always push through and find him and mock him and discourage him until he gave up completely. It would always be the same as it has been, or worse. He knew what he longed for, that which he had got only a glimpse of, enough to know what he was missing out on but not enough to satisfy him by far. It was as if the more he wanted it, the more it seemed to elude him. He just wanted to feel what it was like to love again. A friend. Just a friend. For at least a little while, for a moment. But there would never be anyone who would bear with him, let alone take the risk.

Hooves came to a dusty stop in the clearing.

‘Hello,’ a man said, interrupting Michael’s dark thoughts.

Michael turned to look back at him instinctively. It was a stranger, a very handsome one with billowing, black locks that fell into his eyes as he descended his horse.

‘Apologies,’ the man said, taking in his surroundings and catching his breath. ‘Where might I find the castle of, er… Good Lord! Sorry, I’m not interrupting what I think I’m interrupting, am I?’

Michael must have looked very miserable because it was pretty obvious that he was indeed a man on the brink of jumping into his death.

‘Oh, fuck!’ the man said without a filter. He swore like a sailor but he was dressed as a gentleman. He took off his top hat and did not leave. ‘Well, uh… I, uh…’

‘Where is it that you’re headed?’ Michael said somewhat testily. There was something irritating yet intriguing about this man. The nonchalant way he lingered and dusted off his hat made Michael’s big moment anticlimactic. Couldn’t he do at least this in peace?

‘An, uh, a castle,’ the man said awkwardly but just as intrigued.

‘If I give you your directions, will you leave?’

‘Well, I suppose I will, eventually,’ the man replied. He flicked his hat on the horse’s saddle without looking and approached carefully. ‘On the other hand, if you don’t give me the directions, I might never leave, which in turn means you never jump, sir.’

‘No offence, sir, but I do not know you and nor do you me,’ Michael replied, facing away determinedly. ‘Whether I jump or not is of no consequence to you.’

‘No, you are right,’ the man said as lightly if debating which racing horse to bet on. ‘You may be a killer or a fiend and I should be lucky to escape your web. Are you?’

‘Pardon?’

‘A fiend?’

‘Why, I…’

‘A killer then?’

‘Sir!’

‘Just because I might be asked by the police whether I’d seen anyone around here and it is my duty to answer them honestly. Now, I cannot honestly lie to them if I do not know which is the correct answer.’

Michael had turned back towards this man despite himself. ‘Are you mocking me, sir?’

‘Why would I? This is a grave matter. In case I am asked about this event, it would help us both to know with whom we have dealt, to be sure. There ought to be a lengthy investigation, not to mention how difficult it would be to extract your broken body from that horrible depth, ugh! Do you have a letter on your body, sir? I should hate to imagine that such a handsome man as yourself shall meet his end here, let alone be buried under a nameless headstone with his friends and family forever wondering what happened. And what about me? Not to make this about myself but I am bound to remember such a pretty face for a long time to come. Indeed, if I witness your tragic end, I might never forget it. You could save me a lot of headache _and_ heartache! May I, therefore, know your name, sir?’

Michael stared at the man aghast.

‘M-Michael Walsh,’ he heard himself, regardless.

‘Walsh. Ah. Good. Michael Walsh.’

He seemed to play with every one of his words. Michael wasn’t entirely sure what his smile meant – was it just mischief or were there ulterior motives? Why would God send him there just then? Such an odd and distracting chap who wouldn’t leave Michael alone just when he was at his worst.

‘I suspect you are beyond care for anything but I confess I am a little hurt you’re not curious about my name.’

‘On the contrary, sir. I care too much about things. I cannot take anymore. You have put on a grand show but…’

Michael stepped closer to the edge and the man moved with him, ready to pull him back.

‘ _Now_ , now, wait. It cannot be as bad as that, Mr Walsh.’

‘If I told you, I would shock you so much you would push me yourself.’

The man gave a low whistle. ‘I bet I could shock you more,’ he said. ‘In fact, let us bet on it.’

‘What?’ Michael asked and started as the man stood on the precipice right next to him. ‘What are you doing!?’

‘Seriously,’ the man said, casting his frock coat aside. ‘You want to jump because you find yourself so shocking you cannot live with it any longer, is that right? Well, then. Tell me what it is you mean and if it is indeed so scandalous that I side with you, jump. Before you do, though, I shall attempt to outdo you. If I fail to shock you more than you’ve shocked me, go ahead, sir. If I do not… you come with me to my friend’s castle and we drink till we’re blind tonight.’

‘I am not in the mood for games, particularly such morbid ones.’

‘Too bad. Because if you don’ t play, I—’

‘No!’ Michael stepped in quickly, as this lunatic of a stranger moved to step over the edge. ‘Alright, alright, fine, I sh-shall tell you!’

The man stepped back but only just, listening.

‘I… I was… um, I…’ Michael stuttered, ashamed of his life but he was going to end it anyway, so what did it matter that he revealed his sins? ‘I am a fraud and an unmentionable abomination of nature. I, uh, I was young, sixteen, seventeen, and I fell in love. It was with a boy. In my year at the academy. Such is my sin. We had some happy times, if you must know, like young chaps do, but I suppose with women or… I do not know. I was raised Catholic, and my family had to leave the country as I couldn’t finish my studies, my father couldn’t hold office back in Galway, so… we left to France, to begin anew, to forget, and I got married and—’

Michael talked and talked, obediently telling this stranger who could be friend or foe, all about his marriage and his children and his estate and his lost son and that his grief was overshadowed by feeling sorry for himself because he was tired of doing his husbandly duty.

‘I am a selfish miscreant who has always lived with sin. No wonder God took away my boy, He must have seen my awful relief and thought: there, do not be happy, not like that. Besides, I reconnected with my friend and befriended his new… well, his husband in all but on paper. They are my only friends with whom I can be honest and yet I have betrayed them, too.’

‘Betrayed how?’

‘I k-k- _kissed_ my friend,’ Michael stuttered in a hushed voice. ‘Clearly, I have offended not only him but his husband, and our friendship. It is inexcusable. I _cannot_ sink any lower. The world is better off without my rotten self. I might as well have done nothing, for all I have built is worth as much if I still have such sin in my heart. It’s just not going away and I’d rather… than return to my wife and go on. My soul will be doomed either way. So, you see, there is nothing you can possibly say that is more shocking than this.’

Shaken up, Michael fell quiet. The man let his story linger in the air for a few seconds. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an elegant cigar case, which he offered to Michael but he declined. The man then took his time lighting a cheroot and inhaling and exhaling languorously.

‘Well, Mr Walsh. The bet stands,’ he said.

And then, he embarked on the following proudly.

‘My father recently passed away and I have never been happier. His death was why I could return to the country at all: I was sort of… exiled for a while. I took the time to travel the Middle East and Egypt and further, driven nearly mad with longing for England at times, my home and coincidentally the one place that I had better stayed away from, because of Papa. You see, one day, I was fucking his footman over his writing desk when he came home unexpectedly.’

Michael coughed in surprise but the man ignored him and went on.

‘I can already tell you are a better father than my Papa – he was going to report me to the Met police, so I fled. Again. He knew I was growing up to be a rascal of the worst kind in his opinion so I first ran away to join the navy at 13. I sneaked on a ship to Italy and that was that. Aside from scrubbing chamber pots until they realised who I was, it was everything I wanted: there were no women in sight! On the other hand, all those sunkissed Sicilian young men who cared not a fig for all the constraints that stifle us English… Oh, yes, Mr Walsh, you happened upon a man just like yourself. Well, not quite like yourself. While you were frolicking behind the cricket shed with your school friend, I learned more than just seafaring before I came of age, let’s put it this way. I found myself in China by sixteen – the Opium Wars. In my defence, we were hardly forcing drugs on the Chinese – opium is most pleasurable when taken in sufficient quantities. Really, they ought to have been thankful instead of shooting their guns at us.’

The man took a drag of the cheroot and continued.

‘I killed twenty? Fifty? A hundred? After the first year I stopped counting. I returned to London after this, to accept my promotion to lieutenant and to show off at a shooting match. My father, with whom my relationship had not improved, had to make a statement that it was down to my own merits that I won, I was so good. It satisfied me that he should be embarrassed by my successes because they were ones I gained through my own skills rather than following in his footsteps and spending my life behind a desk in politics like he did.’

‘Who—’

‘He then tried to show me off as his prized son at a dinner party so I drove a knife into my slavery-enabler grandpapa’s portrait and fucked one of his guests that night, not for the last time. Whenever I was back in London in the subsequent years, I… well, one has weaknesses even in one’s strengths, and we were one another’s for a time with that man, when I was not off fighting in wars and burying other friends and lovers or both. How I loved him! And he loved me. But I had to leave. I always had to leave. And I wasn’t sorry.’

The man took another drag, remembering.

‘I was fucking my way across the globe. A new lover every port to forget the one before him. Oh, Mr Walsh, if you knew the delights of Delhi brothels, or, for that matter, Covent Garden. Hnng, I really found my calling. The military, especially the navy, is full of strapping young men hungry for a good fuck after months at sea and I was keen to ensure that my crew was very, very, _very_ happy. Of course, I got entangled with some more than others – that equerry, for example, and, by God, I dread the day I return to Venice, I left so many jealous lovers behind there! And they are the lucky ones. Most of my past lovers are dead. That’s why I learned not to get too attached to anyone because too oft I would see them lie mangled and bleed out on the battlefield. Would I end like that, thought I. Or rather, was it a question of when? For a while I began to wonder why God left me to suffer so wretchedly. Is it my sins? Is it that the world is full of faraway corners where even he has no talent to look? My Gods came in bottles: I wouldn’t have survived it all without opiates and drinks. A person’s constitution, no matter how tough, cannot endure this and stay well. All that killing, all that blood and shit and pain and maimed bodies and the sight of the light leaving your friend’s eyes. Oftentimes, I thought I’d turn my gun against myself. Better get it done with rather than live in fear of the next day, of the next fight, the next bullet. Yes, I am a scoundrel and a cheat but how could I make promises to my lovers? There was never any telling whether I would return on my own feet or in a coffin. But then that inspired me to take yet more lovers, and more, and more. That is what I do. I fight, I kill, I fuck, I drink, I fight, and on and on it goes.’

The man flicked his cheroot into the abyss and turned to Michael.

‘So you see, your youthful dalliance does not shock me, Mr Walsh, nor any other confliction of yours of which you spoke so courageously. Now, judging by that look on your face, I believe you owe me a step back and I owe you a drink. And a castle if I can bloody find it.’

Michael just stared at the man aghast and rooted to the spot.

‘Do humour me, sir,’ the man asked, inclining his head. ‘As I said, it would be such a shame for one so handsome to waste one’s life, either by jumping or by hiding behind a disguise until he is old and grey. But then, who am I but a caddish stranger who is far too tactless not to make advances on you when clearly what you need is a friend, not a flirt? Forgive me, I do not know how else to be.’

‘What stopped you?’ Michael asked in an oddly impressed voice.

‘From what?’

‘From…’ Michael indicated the pistol hanging on the man’s belt in a holster. Instead of being reminded about his darkest hours, the man’s expression changed completely and his eyes filled with colour and light, and his smile lit up.

‘Oh, Mr Walsh, for every lost lover, or tragedy, or moment of grief, there are a hundred wonders of the world that await us! I may have a talent for offending people and leaving a mess after myself but for every time I had to say goodbye to a man I loved, I knew that a thousand adventures and a million delights were to be found just around the corner. Or, well, a few months’ sea voyage away at any rate. Have you seen the Taj Mahal in Agra? Not even in pictures? Or the pyramids – to think they were built by men, like you and me, one gigantic stone at a time! Japan in blossom season! I’m not too much of a rogue to know magic on Earth when I see it. And the sea at sunset and sunrise! It never gets old, it truly doesn’t. The vast, open oceans and the cool breeze that makes one forget their tiny little cabin and depleting rations and not having bathed for weeks!’ he said, laughing despite himself. ‘It’s all wondrous and my only regret is that a single lifetime is not enough to see it all!’

Michael heard himself laugh, captivated by the enthusiastic gaze of this man. He was just a force of nature, full of life.

‘You know what else a lifetime is much too short for?’ the man continued seriously, stepping closer. ‘Suppressing one’s true nature and desires, be those words or deeds. Especially when that desire is love, no matter what kind. Look, look around at this luscious forest! The world is bursting with lust for life, look how the trees strive for the sun’s warm light, taller than we can see! I was in the Nubian Desert once and had not drunk a drop of water for a day and the fever was taking over my neglected body and I dreamed of this scenery so vividly I could almost taste it – how lucky I am to be standing here after that horrid state of mine then! How lucky we are to be intelligent beings to admire the Lord’s work and live the destinies we’ve been dealt to the fullest! Nature is wonderous, would you not agree? Why should that stop at the nature of plants and animals and not extend to us men? And truthfully, if God did not approve of our true nature, why did he spare me thus far? There were a thousand occasions where I could have met my maker. I have seen far better men than me die, why them not me? Do you know how many times I’ve been grazed by a bullet?’

The man swept away his dark locks to reveal a long but shallow scar on the side of his neck, making Michael gasp.

‘Why haven’t I died if I am such a sinner as you say? You may say I am a rascal, sir, and I am the first to admit it, but I believe in Divine Providence. There was a reason why God spared me and had me get lost today and ride down this path blindly looking for help. And then there you were, Mr Walsh.’

‘ _I_ helped _you_? I rather think…’

Michael had no mind for the depth anymore, only this most captivating stranger.

‘If you wish me to leave, Mr Walsh, I will. But if you think I can show you even a little bit more of life…’

Michael eyed the hand offered to him suspiciously and then, seeing reason and deciding to trust him, took it. The man pulled him away from the cliff’s edge and, perhaps only pretending, stumbled over a tree root and yanked him closer to him, so that they were nose to nose. They had a little giggle about it but then, they were not laughing, they were inching closer and closer to each other. Michael’s heart raced far more than on the precipice.

‘WILLIAM!’

It was Alfred who shouted, making the strangers flee apart.

He marched purposefully into the clearing, fuming. Edward followed, equally breathlessly from their haste uphill, not believing his eyes either.

‘Ah, good!’ William said cheerfully, turning to them. ‘I was just looking for you! Is this castle of yours invisible, Drummond? Because I’ve been searching for an hour for—Oi, watch it, Alfred!’

Alfred swiftly tore William away from Michael and pushed him against a tree.

‘What—!?’

‘JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!?’ Alfred demanded, completely livid, his glare shooting lightnings.

‘You’re not jealous, right? Drummond’s right there, darling.’

‘I’M NOT JEALOUS I—UGH!!!’

Alfred could only express what he felt with another hearty shove of Will’s collar.

‘Do you know each other?’ Michael asked, barely registering what was going on. One second, he was about to throw himself into the abyss, then he was almost kissing the most handsome man he’d ever seen, and now that man was being attacked by Alfred! ‘How did you know I would be here?’

‘A year ago, I stood at the edge of that cliff as well, Michael,’ Edward told him seriously. ‘A _friend_ helped me step back,’ he added with a glance at Alfred, who gave William’s lapel’s another shove.

‘Have you NO CONCERN for anyone, ANYONE at all, William?!’ he shouted, red in the face.

‘Woah, woah, woah, Alfred, darling, please, I was just trying to help! Ow!’

‘Michael is vulnerable and the last thing he needs is a CAD LIKE YOU to taunt him and, and, and…’

‘I wasn’t taunting him!’

‘You were…’ Alfred couldn’t even say it, it was too ridiculous for words.

‘I saved his life!’

‘HA! YOU JUST CAN’T KEEP YOUR GUN IN YOUR HOLSTER—’

‘It’s true, Alfred,’ Michael pleaded, stepping over there. ‘Mr… he… William saved my life.’

Alfred turned to Michael completely aghast whilst still holding William against the tree.

‘Really, Alfred. I was…’

‘He was just having a look around,’ William cut in so as to spare Michael the embarrassment and shame of having to admit he had contemplated suicide. ‘I believe Mr Walsh was very keen on catching a glimpse of a rare red-throated diver and as he was doing so, he didn’t watch where he was going and nearly fell off that cliff. Wouldn’t want that, right? I yanked him back just in time and, uh, well, you can’t deny, Alfred, I’m…’ William smirked smugly. ‘It’s a natural reaction of a handsome young man to want to thank me in that most delightful way Mr Walsh did, or _would have_ , had _you_ not crudely interrupted us.’

Alfred gave William another shove for that last jab.

‘Ow!!’

‘Alfred, stop, you’ll hurt him!’ Michael pleaded.

‘TEN guineas if you tell me his last name,’ Alfred challenged him and silence followed. ‘Let me introduce you, then, to Captain William Peel, son of the late Sir Robert, and only the worst scoundrel and fornicator across three continents!’

Michael couldn’t mask his surprise but he was in no place to judge. He heard it all.

‘W-w-well, this scoundrel saved my life just now, so… please.’

‘Let him go, Alfred,’ Edward advised wisely too, though he did not like this at all.

‘ _If you hurt him_ , nay, if you try anything…’ Alfred growled threateningly against William’s smug face but then he let him go and stepped back.

‘Thank you,’ William said, straightening his attire indignantly. ‘Oh, my God! _Alfred_ is that schoolboy of whom you spoke? Ahh! Well, this is a small world! Now, where the bloody hell is this castle of yours, Drummond? I need a bed for the night. Or perhaps _half_ a bed,’ he added, winking at Michael, who went terribly flustered but liked this act.

Alfred went purple at this, thinking the cliff not so uninviting anymore. Edward intervened:

‘We thought you were in London, Captain,’ he said to imply he was not wanted.

‘I fancied a vacation.’

‘In the Highlands?’

‘Yes. For the air.’

‘Because fresh air must be tricky to come by at the open sea?’ Edward reasoned.

‘Fresh air not so tricky but woodlands, more so. I have not been sailing since we last met, I’ll have you know. I was browsing for a house! I got one, too, in Bedfordshire, like I said. You’ll have to see it one day. But you know, I missed Britain, so once I started travelling to the country in search of an estate, I got too much of a taste for it, thus I have been traveling here and there all summer. Septimus says hello, Alfred – I ran into him in Wales. That affair of his with the, uh— well, I say! Rather him than me! He was also the one who told me that you’d be in Scotland this month. And you are! Excellent! Come, gentlemen. Can’t I rely on a couple of my very best friends to give this poor, tired traveller a room for the night?’

‘Of course, you can,’ Michael said before it could be objected against.

Alfred threw his hands up in frustration. ‘It’s your castle!’ he said to Edward before kicking the trunk of a tree.

Edward pinched the bridge of his nose and regretted what he would say in advance.

‘I suppose… for one night.’

Michael’s smile lit up, and his excitement only grew upon catching William’s conspiratorial glance. And so, it was decided. They got their horses and set out to walk down the path back to the river.

‘Wonder why his coat lay in the grass, though,’ Edward told Alfred discretely and led the way.

Alfred immediately insisted that Michael and William go in front of him so that he could keep an eye on them.

 _Fantastic_ , he thought. _Just excellent._


	37. Quite Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred gets a taste of chaperoning. Charlotte has a proposal. New love is in the air, and old friendships are forged forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are here, this is the last chapter of this labour of love that's been Caledonian Adventures. It has taken me through the lockdown. I honestly don't know how else I would have survived it if it weren't for these misfits.
> 
> There are some loose ends left for a potential epilogue after a little break from this while I work on some original writings.
> 
> I'm not tying up anything with finality as there is always a tomorrow. For now, here's to a happy today.
> 
> \- With Love.

Alfred sat on the terrace stairs with a big, pained groan.

That one night William was supposed to stay for became a week.

How did we get here?

*

_One week earlier…_

‘Uh-oh. What’s that for?’ Wood stopped Wilson in the servants’ corridor.

He was carrying a single shoe.

‘For polishing, innit?’ Wilson replied and chuckled. ‘Not for what you think, though I daresay his lordship wouldn’t mind me throwing it at the Captain’s head!’ he laughed, hurrying on into the boot room where he sat down to polish the shoe and its pair.

And promptly sneezed.

‘Bless you,’ Wood said. ‘Should you be doing this?’

‘I’m alright now, I’m alright,’ Wilson sniffed but his cough was gone. ‘And you? Look at you, Walt, sipping that cuppa tea without a care! Is Mr Drummond dressed, then?’

‘He is. He’ll be in the library if his lordship wants him.’

‘“If?”’

Wood looked knowingly at Wilson and drank his tea comfortably.

‘Mrs Bell’s made up another bedroom for the Captain. I can’t believe he showed up here. What a coincidence!’ he mused.

‘Ha! Coincidence my foot.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘He’s here sniffing after his lordship again, isn’t he?’

‘I thought they put that behind them.’

‘Yeah. Like the time before, and the time before that…’

‘No, really. I rather think he’s got Mr Walsh on his mind, actually.’

‘Perhaps. Or perhaps only to drive Lord Alfred mad again.’

‘What? Never!’

‘Wouldn’t he?’

‘He is welcome to try,’ Wood said with some pride in his boss. ‘Never seen anyone as mad about anyone as his lordship about Mr Drummond, and it goes both ways. Surely, he’s unaffected, whatever passed between them in the past.’

‘Mr Drummond not counting, of course. They’re quite settled, thank God! Knock on wood things’ll stay this way,’ Wilson added, knocking on his beau cheekily.

‘Oi! I’m ticklish there!’

‘I know,’ Wilson winked.

‘I spilled my tea…’

‘Ohh, there’s a tragedy there!’

‘Shush.’

‘Right. But I’m right: I daresay the Captain still affects his lordship, if only by getting on his nerves! Blimey, you saw what they were like when we had him over after the funeral. Like he’d never left.’

‘Was it really so bad? When his lordship and the Captain…’

‘Oh, when the Captain was in London, that was the easy part. I’d be rung for at all hours and mend tears on his lordship’s clothes in strange places… Once I had to buy a box of white buttons out of my own wages because Mr Penge, the butler at the Palace, noticed how fast I was getting through them – accused me of selling them or something! As if! But when the Captain was away… His lordship kept it together upstairs but then, I’d get him after hours. I’d be breaking the rules of my service by trying to coax him out of bed. I’d be the one sneaking food into his room when he was too out of it to go down. I’d be helping him to the _washstand_.’

Wood listened sympathetically. A silent moment passed, then Wilson shrugged.

‘Well, he’s never promised me a mansion, his lordship has!’ he teased to lighten the mood and polished away busily.

‘Course he hasn’t,’ Wood said airily. ‘If you’re this nosey all the time.’

‘And you!’

‘And a gossip.’

‘You asked!’ Wilson laughed. His smile faded, though. ‘I just wish we knew what happened to that footman.’

‘What footman?’

‘The one the Captain… when he was seen by Sir Robert.’

‘Why, what should’ve happened?’

‘Well he was hardly kept on, let’s put it this way.’

‘Well, doesn’t his lordship know?’

‘Ha! As if! The Captain left that same day, so he’d be none the wiser. As for Lord Alfred, he wouldn’t have bothered to find out. And even if he had, he couldn’t have made inquiries. Nor did I. It would’ve been far too suspicious. Don’t want to have anything to do with that, eh? For all I know, the poor lad hang.’

‘I thought no one’s been hanged for ten years.’

Wilson blew the last speck of dust off the shoes. ‘That’s the question, innit? If he wasn’t, then, where is he?’ he asked, gave a stunned Wood a peck on the lips, and went up to dress his lordship for dinner.

*

Dinners, breakfasts, lunches, dinners, all together. It was idyllic out here. Who wouldn’t want to stay? There was more than enough space to ride, fish, row, take long walks in the sunset, or even take a plunge in the loch (preferably announced prior to stripping naked on the spot, as impressed upon the new guest by the nonplussed, picnicking ladies). There was a lot of sunshine, fresh air, and also the sizzling of new love in the air…

…for William and Michael could chat for hours and hours at a time.

And that was just chatting. As long as it was only that.

And Alfred was checking. Though he didn’t know how his servants gossiped about it, they were right: he was quite on edge about it all. He couldn’t chaperone the “lovebirds” (as Cecilia teasingly called them) at all times… but he _could_ linger in doorways, and take his binocular on rides and try to read lips from a distance, and perhaps even inject topics into conversations that would surely reveal something discouraging about either party:

‘He will never be satisfied, Michael,’ he cornered him one afternoon while he was getting flowers for the salon. ‘The world is not wide enough to contain him and his wild… _habits_.’

‘It is not up to be to judge my fellow men,’ Michael would reply wisely. ‘We are like a garden: left on our own, we grow wild, but with some love and attention, we bloom. One’s past is no cause for judgement if one strives to better their future.’

‘If you think you can change him…’

‘I don’t want to. I like him. As he is.’

At that point, a gunshot and laughter sounded from the garden, for William was secretly teaching Charlotte while Edward had gone to the village.

Alfred pressed on, making the most of having Michael’s time: ‘He’ll sail away once he’s got what he wanted.’

‘He’ll see me sail sooner than I him, Alfred,’ Michael reasoned sadly.

‘I… but… that’s different. He will leave you. He always does. From one day to the next. He is a _soldier_.’

‘I know what he is, Alfred. He told me everything.’

‘If he talked for a full month it still wouldn’t be enough for him to list all the things he’s got up to, believe me.’

‘I know enough.’

‘So you know he’ll hurt you.’

‘Good. Even if he does, it will have been better than nothing. You are so lucky you forget how rare it is to come by something like this for the rest of us. More reason to enjoy it while it lasts.’

‘Michael, I…’

‘I have wasted so much time doing what is expected of me rather than what I want. We are friends, so be a friend. Please don’t deny me this chance.’

And then to William, once he’d stopped making a better shot out of Charlotte, Alfred would say:

‘Why him? Is it to vex me?’

‘Pfft! If I wanted to do that, I would simply flirt with Drummond!’

‘DON’T YOU—’

William smiled in satisfaction. He grabbed a bottle of wine from the cellar like he owned it and Alfred had to keep up with him on his lively way back to the picnic outside.

‘Look,’ he pressed on. ‘Michael is not as worldly as you and I—’

‘He is by no means a child, Alfred!’ William shot him down easily, walking apace towards the loch. ‘He has a family, an estate, he’s well-established. You should give him more credit.’

‘I meant in matters of the heart, if his _heart_ is what’s on your mind at all, though I doubt it.’

‘Charming, Alfred. You know, that’s precisely why he needs someone like me. He really could use some loving up, if you know what I— ow, did you just pinch me!?’ William stopped, scandalized.

‘He is fragile.’

‘He’s one of the strongest men I have met,’ William continued, walking on. ‘I wear a dozen scars on my skin, but I would never have endured what he’s done. What a hellish existence! Exactly what I’ve always run from! What you run from. What you saved your “husband” from. Let him have a break, Alfred.’

‘Have _you_ , you mean?’

‘Well, if he’s keen… OW, I SAID STOP PINCHING! This is a bottle of ‘89!’

‘Please don’t take advantage of him, please, _please_ , William. He really likes you.’

William stopped, and he failed to keep it straight and scrunched up his face in a flustered smile. ‘Do you really think he does?’

Alfred sighed. He was too old for this. ‘But do _you_?’ he asked. ‘What are your intentions really? To spoil him, enthral him, and leave him when he’s most infatuated with you? What do you get out of it? He’s not as _experienced_ …’

‘Well, you could give me a few tips on what he likes… ow! FOR HEAVEN’S SAKES. Well, you must have learnt your tricks with someone for it wasn’t me! Oh, wait! That Russian prince who kept you as his toy… OW, alright I deserved that, sorry. You know, I never told you this, but in the spirit of helping you get over whatever jealousy is driving your obsession with standing in our way…’

‘Not jealous, not obsessed!’

‘…I was on that steam yacht that brought the Russians over.’

Alfred gulped. ‘Oh, no, please no,’ he pleaded to no one in particular.

‘Never been so cold in my life but the Prince warmed me up and I warmed him up for you—OW! Never had a redhead before—OW!’

‘I know you think this big-mouth act is attractive, but you cannot frighten Michael with your… odd fancies. I could barely keep up with you! Flirt if you must but he—’

‘Has children, I think he know what he’s doing, Alfie.’

‘William.’

‘Look, all that excites me even more.’

‘Excuse me?!’

‘Because everything is a new wonder to him. It’s nice to be wanted for myself, you know, he doesn’t just see me as a piece of meat – I have feelings, too, you know!’

‘Seriously, Will…’

‘You want serious? Alright, then. I thought I had seen too much; I look at bodies and know how to make them explode with pleasure but also where to strike a knife to make death quick. He is so far removed from it all, he makes me forget that. I get to appreciate the simplest of touches, the lightest kisses like they mean something again.’

‘You’ve kissed him!? When did you kiss him!?’

‘Ow! OW! OW!’

Suffice it to say, all of Alfred’s attempts at talking sense into them had woefully failed thus far. Will and Michael seemed to like each other more and more each day.

Edward was no help. Alfred was always well-hydrated before bed: as soon as he retired to the bedroom at night, he chugged the water Edward poured for him (in an attempt at stopping him) and used the glass to hear better whether there was any tiptoeing in the corridor between William’s and Michael’s bedchambers (which he had made sure were as far away as possible).

‘Would you come to bed!?’ Edward asked incredulously, eager to blow out the candles.

‘You don’t understand, you have no past with anyone.’

‘Then it is an incredible coincidence that Florence named her son after me.’

‘I meant _men_.’

‘I understand that they are grown men! They can do whatever they want.’

‘So you, too, think they _want_ to…?’

Edward sighed so hard the room went dark.

In the morning, Alfred wrote a long letter to his parents thanking them for bearing with him and his siblings as youths. He began to understand what it was like to parent teenagers. He was fairly sure he was growing grey hairs.

Sure enough, despite his best efforts, after a day of giggly piano playing and hushed conversations in private nooks of the castle, he spotted Michael and William giddily sneaking out for some romantic night-time boating on the loch. There was no coming between them.

And so Michael’s last day arrived and William was still here.

After dinner, Alfred, Edward, Charlotte, and Cecilia were playing Boston while William and Michael, of course, preferred to remain on the loveseat in an alcove, barely needing the warmth of the fireplace for the air was heated enough between them, yet they barely spoke and only in hushed tones.

Unable to focus on his cards, Alfred had to leave for fresh air.

So, there he was, groaningly slumping on the stone steps of the terrace under the stars, trying to accept the fact that William and Michael were clearly, utterly besotted with each other, against all logic.

He still had his head in his hands when Charlotte found him.

‘I HATE THIS!’ he moaned to her, who patted his back and offered a shoulder to grumble on, if not cry.

‘Well, sometimes opposites attract,’ she offered as small comfort.

‘Humpfht!’

Alfred groaned because Charlotte was painfully right. It made no sense, yet they made perfect sense:

Michael had been feeling isolated in rural France. Who had endless tales of adventures across continents to broaden his world? But William, of course!

Will had just bought a house in Bedfordshire, which he meant to renovate. Michael was just the man who knew all about renovating big country houses, since he had done numerous jobs on his chateau and the village, lots of it with his own hands.

Well! Lazy sailors, guides who can’t even find the North Star on their own, and hobby travellers too uppity to feed their own camels or horses were all people that William frowned upon. Michael was that rarity among gentlemen who had never been one to fear hard work, which was so appealing indeed.

In turn, better than gardening, William was just the tonic for Michael’s melancholy, just the man to shake him up with his incredible thirst for life. His gloom was entirely gone.

Michael was not some dewy-eyed youth, though, who was easily dazzled by tall tales and a handsome smile. He was a devout Christian. Many of his choices, even difficult ones at the expense of his own desires, were guided by his faith. Luckily, he found in William a devoted believer in Divine Providence. His awe-inspiring stories about inexplicable luck on his travels just served to confirm this.

Alas, he had set sail due to persecution of a shocking kind, he made no secret of it: William had been in the strange position of wandering in _exile_ from England… No one could relate to this more than Michael, having left England behind forever after religious persecution at the young age of seventeen.

But Michael was embarrassed even in the company of his own wife because he was so uncomfortable about his marital duties, which he secretly found distasteful and therefore much cause for guilt. How could he be convinced to taste the forbidden fruits he had denied himself for so long? After all, he had nearly thrown himself off a cliff after kissing Alfred in a moment of weakness. With William, he didn’t need convincing, though. After ten years of celibacy aside from his marriage, Michael was just as keen as the sailors Will mentioned… and if there was anyone who could help him shed the shame about his desires, it was William.

Why would William care about someone as inexperienced as Michael, though? He, who had seen and done just about everything. Well, that’s what excited him about Michael. Step by step, he could show him everything, rediscovering and appreciating every touch and sensation anew with him. He was compelled to take things slow(er than usual) for the first time in his life, enjoying the build-up. He had done just about everything except romance first.

Amidst all the flirting, William was a godsend in that his experiences with death and grief meant that he could help Michael deal with the loss of his child, too.

They were already making plans to contrive to meet the next summer. Alfred had never been able to plan ahead with William for a single day, let alone for another season! He watched on, baffled: how could they plan when William was always away in the navy and now making his home in England, while Michael was based in France and hardly ever travelled? Well, no one was more used to waiting for long stretches of time between seeing his beloved friend than Michael and no one so quick to hop on a ship than William, when the need struck.

What about William not being faithful? Michael could hardly judge or say a word, being married without the option of divorce. He had been alone in his loneliness for so long that a little went a long way, and he got more than a little from William already. He didn’t expect the world from him but what he got changed his world. For the first time in ten years, he had the confidence to make plans, to be enthusiastic about the future, when just days ago he nearly ended it all. It was Providence that made the Captain lose his way just perfectly to cross paths with him that day on the clifftop.

As far as they were concerned, it was meant to be.

‘You’ll survive it,’ Charlotte comforted Alfred out on the terrace. ‘I remember my first time in the Lake District: we planned and planned the trip to a summer school for months with my then lady friend, Anne. And then, after a week of blissful reunion, she told me we were finished because she found someone new: our French tutor’s daughter. I lived in the same house with them for two more months. Worst is we slept in bunk beds.’

Carefree laughter sounded from the salon.

‘Ughhh!!!’ Alfred groaned.

‘There, there.’

‘I’m going to have to let them do this, aren’t I?’

‘I think you may be a little too late already,’ she said timidly.

‘Because Michael is leaving in the morning?’

‘Nnno… because, um…’

Craning their necks, they could see through the window that Michael and William stopped chatting and were now slowly and sensually kissing in their little alcove in the shadow, while Edward and Cecilia were too engrossed in their game of Snap! Alfred got up and tried to get their attention through the window, frantically pointing to the kissy lovebirds behind their backs but they didn’t understand him, so he gave up.

He sat back on the stone steps with Charlotte and laid his head back on her shoulder. That’s when he smelled it on her neck.

‘Are you… are you wearing the scent of oranges that William gave you as a present?’

She bit her lip in guilt in a way that ran in the Drummond family.

‘What, it’s good,’ she shrugged. ‘Cecilia adores it.’

‘I say! What are you doing out here, you traitor?’

‘I simply couldn’t bear to listen to the Captain’s helpless Nubian woman story one more time. I might gag. Tell that to _Divine Providence_.’

Alfred almost laughed, but she was oddly quiet after that.

‘Are you sure that’s all?’ he asked.

She looked troubled and pulled her shawl tighter around herself.

‘I don’t want to vex you more.’

‘But?’ Alfred asked imagining all sorts of things.

‘But would you be terribly opposed to marrying Cecilia?’ she asked.

Alfred jumped back on his feet in surprise.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Just for pretence’s sake.’

‘What’s wrong, what has happened?’ he demanded darkly.

‘Nothing, this has always been an idea…’

‘Rubbish. What has brought this up now?’

She bit her lip, found out.

‘The day you rode out to the cliff, Cecilia and I walked to the village. We spotted Queensberry there, or rather he spotted us. He nearly abducted her while I popped into the post office. Naturally, I shot him in the foot.’

‘You what!?’

‘Shhh! Edward mustn’t know. I shot him, alright? But only in the foot, though he deserved another extremity of his targeted. I might get to it, now that the Captain’s improved my aim…’

‘But… but…’

‘You sound like Edward! Look, it’s nothing, I barely hit him, but it was enough to keep him at bay and for us to run away. I don’t think we were followed, otherwise he’d have shown himself by now. However, and I wholeheartedly support Cecilia on this, we cannot keep living like this, Alfred! Not to mention we bring danger upon you, too. I could go to prison for what I’ve done, they’d have every right to put me away on account of kidnapping her, regardless of whether she came willingly or not. She is too well-known in many circles, her looks stand out, the Earl is too powerful. The solution is there. Don’t tell me it hasn’t occurred to you. If Cecilia must marry someone, well then. I suppose it would benefit you, too. We could all live as we are, here or in London, and simply pretend in public. Just perfect, is it not?’

Alfred eyed her in the twilight carefully.

‘You don’t want this,’ he stated.

She looked up at him with piercing dark eyes. No, she did not.

‘But surely,’ he said, settling back on the step next to her, ‘and I ask at the risk of being at the receiving end of your wrath, but if we did anything of the sort, wouldn’t we do better if Cecilia married Edward, and you married me?’

She tutted. ‘That’s what Cecilia said, too.’

‘Well, wouldn’t it make more sense? Your parents nag you just as much.’

‘Not so much…’

‘And if I were tied to the Drummond family, no one would question why I spend so much time with Edward, or you with Cecilia, your “sister-in-law”.’

She was shaking her head. ‘I don’t want to marry, for whatever reason. It is unthinkable, it would be absurd!’

‘And it isn’t for me to do so?!’ Alfred asked indignantly. ‘Think ahead, think of yourself five years from now. If I were off the market and should you ever find yourself in need of a cover, I would be quite unavailable. Cecilia would still be better off marrying Edward. Hm? She would wear your name,’ he reasoned with a smile.

However, she teared up bitterly. ‘Precisely, I’m afraid I wouldn’t bear it. I wish it could be _my_ name, I wish _we_ could…’

Now it was her turn to cry on his shoulder.

‘There, there…’ he said patting her back and offered his handkerchief. ‘I know.’

‘I’m so afraid she’ll be taken away from me. Please, Alfred, I would be in your debt forever.’

‘But I do not want you to be in my debt. I want you to be free. Therefore…’

She picked up her head, looking at him expectantly.

‘We can talk about it,’ he said carefully to appease her.

That seemed to be enough for now. She understood this was not a decision to be made lightly.

His gaze wandered.

‘Oh, good grief!’ he moaned.

‘What?’

‘Those idiots!’ he said, indicating Edward and Cecilia in the salon. And only they were in the salon, animatedly playing cards, while William and Michael were gone. ‘They let them slip upstairs! Ugh!’

*

Cecilia had been standing in the bedroom doorway for five minutes, thoroughly delighted. Charlotte was stabbing the air rather vigorously with a sword, even now she was dressed in nightclothes. Satisfied at having done away with one imaginary enemy, she turned on her bare heels and only then did she notice her.

‘Oh! Sorry,’ Charlotte asked, straightening up and blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

‘Don’t stop for me,’ Cecilia said in a deep, sultry sort of tone that only came out when she was indeed very, very delighted.

‘Close that door, will you?’ Charlotte asked her and discarded the sword. For now.

Cecilia did so, placed her candle on the table, and approached Charlotte slowly and most flirtatiously. Charlotte’s hand wandered to her lower back and she held her tight.

‘Have you told him?’ Cecilia asked before giving Charlotte the satisfaction of a kiss.

‘I have,’ Charlotte replied distractedly.

‘And?’

‘And… he said we could discuss it as a possibility.’

‘That’s an odd proposal. So unromantic!’

‘How about this proposal: we stop talking and go to bed?’

‘Hmmmm, let me think…’

Cecilia shrieked and giggled as Charlotte carried her to the bed bridal-style without further ado.

‘What’s that?’ Cecilia asked between kisses, fearing an intruder always.

‘What’s what?’ Charlotte asked, not as concerned when Cecilia was this naked.

‘That noise. That knocking or thudding or...’

‘What—oh,’ Charlotte listened, chuckling. ‘That’s Michael’s room. Ohhh, Alfred will kill them in the morning.’

‘Let’s outdo them.’

Charlotte didn’t need to be told twice.

*

Alfred woke with a start.

How did he get so sweaty? Even with the nice weather and multiple layers of blankets, the nights were only truly warm if he slept snuggled up to Edward.

‘Edward!’ he panted without thinking, reaching, touching, grabbing to make sure he was there.

‘Nggg, Alfred,’ Edward muttered half-asleep. ‘You are not eavesdropping on the chaps again, are you, my dearest? They’re finally quiet. …Alfred?’

Alfred didn’t look so well, though he forced a smile and lay back.

‘Bad dream?’ Edward asked, making sure Alfred was properly tucked in the bed and snugly in his arms.

‘The worst,’ Alfred admitted and positively clung to Edward under the sheets.

‘You watched me get shot? Again? Alfred…’

‘I know, but I _saw_ it happen with my own eyes, knowing you were far too out of reach for me to protect you in any way, and I… It is hardly surprising that it creeps back into my nightmares.’

‘I am perfectly fine. My dearest, Alfred,’ Edward whispered gently to his love, guiding his hand to the scar. ‘See? Definitely not holey. There is nothing there but my skin, healed solid.’

Alfred smirked in the dark and his hand wandered south. ‘I wonder what else is solid on your body…’

Edward snored softly.

‘Edward? I say!’

And then Edward giggled. ‘Got you!’

‘Oh!’

‘You didn’t think I would choose this moment to fall asleep!’

‘Shush and kiss me.’

Edward gladly obliged, though not fully immersed yet. ‘What’s brought it on, the nightmare?’ he scrutinized.

‘We can discuss it in the mor—’

Edward cut Alfred off with a kiss. ‘We shall discuss it now.’

‘Must we?’ Alfred groaned, his hands definitely wandering to all sorts of places now, making it hard for Edward to focus.

‘Darling…’

‘Ugh, fine!’ Alfred huffed. ‘They kept shooting their guns, Charlotte and Will, while you were gone.’

‘Sorry?!’

‘Only because she shot Queensberry.’

‘Wh—!?’

‘And I may have to marry Cecilia, that’s all.’

‘WHAT!’

And it was Edward’s turn to be cut off by Alfred.

‘In… the… morning,’ Alfred muttered between lustful kisses down Edward’s body.

*

The morning found William and Michael with big smiles on their faces despite the fact this was the day of departure.

‘When do we leave?’ William asked between kisses, still hungry for his lover.

‘“We?”’ Michael asked, barely able to think after such a gratifying night.

‘Well, of course. Let me see you to Edinburgh. I don’t want to say goodbye yet.’

‘I thought you would have liked to stay here.’

‘Why?’

‘Because… well, because you can. I don’t think I would ever leave if I didn’t have my obligations.’

William laughed. ‘Ah, I don’t think they’d like that! Especially not… no, actually, none of them would really like that.’

‘I don’t think that’s true. Alfred really cares about you. And so do you about him. You two merely have strange ways of showing it.’

‘Hm. All the same, even if they begged me, I’d still go with you. Must you, really?’

‘Go home? I should have gone a week ago.’

‘You can do whatever you want!’

‘And suffer the consequences.’

‘What consequences?’

‘Oh, I am certain to be crucified by them. The tribe.’

‘Who?’

‘The tribe of relations, both Isabelle’s and mine. And it’s such a small world between the chateau and the village. I wouldn’t put it past them to have already spread some ill-mannered words about me and the last thing I need is to be unwelcome by the locals. France is in tension. I’ve already fled once.’

‘Then… let me go with you.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Seriously.’

‘What, to France?’

‘Yes. To support you.’

‘Now?!’

‘Right now,’ William said, moving to get out of bed.

‘Well, you can’t!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because… well…’

‘I have a big ship,’ William said with a wink.

‘Oh! And a big house, a big new house that you’ve just bought!’

‘I’ll sell,’ William said, falling on Michael’s lips again.

‘But…’

‘Enough talk, let’s just…’

Michael kissed back but he was the saner. ‘If you sold your house, what excuse could I give to return?’ he reasoned flirtatiously.

William smiled. ‘I think I shall have big plans for my house, big plans indeed! I shall need your assistance so many, many times…’

They were ready to make the best of the last minutes in this castle but before they did, William excused himself, hopped off the bed to the door, and opened it as naked as the day he was born.

Just as he thought from the smallest creaking, Alfred was standing right there on the doorstep.

‘Unless you are about to join us…’ William said while already closing the door on him.

‘Wait, wait,’ Alfred insisted, pointedly maintaining _eye_ -contact. ‘This came by wire,’ he said, handing William a small envelope. ‘And the carriage is ready. Whenever you two… are ready. Though… we would like to impress upon you that you are welcome to stay for as long as you like, both of you.’

Alfred was staring with his head held high at William, who eyed him closely. Alfred did not waver. William stretched out the moment to make sure. In the end, he nodded, and so did Alfred, as a kind of blessing, or the beginnings thereof.

‘Thought you had it in you,’ William said. And then shut the door on him and got back into bed with Michael.

Two hours later, all their suitcases were fastened to the carriage and there was nothing left but to say goodbye.

‘…not the size of the model but the make, your aim will be deadly with the right one, I’ll send you a catalogue,’ William could be heard talking to Charlotte on his way out of the castle.

‘What catalogue?’ Edward asked.

‘NOTHING,’ she lied. ‘Just… ladies’ things. You know how Cecilia has grown fond of that perfume.’

Edward wasn’t convinced but left them to it.

‘Take this with you,’ Cecilia said to Michael and handed him a tartan shawl, and an envelope. ‘And that is for Mrs Walsh. We have invented the perfect story to excuse your elongated stay. You shan’t be in any trouble once she reads it, I promise.’

‘Thank you,’ Michael said, touched.

‘When will you reach Edinburgh?’ Edward asked him.

‘Tonight, we are hoping, perhaps tomorrow morning if we take it slow and safe,’ Michael replied.

‘Wouldn’t that be a shame?’ William teased, and stopped to shake Edward’s hand briefly before he stepped aside with Alfred. ‘Thank you for everything. Apologies for appropriating your time off but…’

‘It’s your time in the sun now,’ Alfred said kindly. ‘Edward and I should very much like to retire into the background and live a quiet life.’

‘Now that Papa is not breathing down Drummond’s neck? Or breathing at all. Uh-oh, are you going to pinch me—’

Alfred took Will’s hand in both of his.

‘And you? What will you do now?’ he asked confidentially. ‘What was in the telegram?’

The answer was written in William’s eyes.

‘Where?’ Alfred asked knowingly.

‘Oregon. There’s a border dispute that ought to be sorted.’

‘When?’

‘A couple of months, maybe sooner. I _did_ just get a house.’

‘Does Michael know?’

‘He will before he sails. I’ll be back by next summer. I think… Michael might have a new son by that time.’

William’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Alfred squeezed his hand and let go of him.

‘And Alfred, he is…’ William added, stealing a glance from Michael in the carriage. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’ Alfred pretended airily.

‘I haven’t felt this way in a long time. Is that so very odd? It is, isn’t it? Hey ho. Stranger things have happened at sea… and that was just me!’

Alfred rolled his eyes fondly. ‘If you are sure,’ he said, walking him back to the carriage.

‘I am. Jokes aside, I truly believe it is worth a shot,’ he said, squeezing Alfred’s elbow before stepping in. ‘Oh! Ohhh my God, I’m SO sorry, Drummond!’

‘We are very amused,’ Edward said sarcastically and shut the door. ‘Have a safe journey, Captain. Write often, Michael!’

‘Will do,’ Michael promised and they were off. ‘And you!’ he shouted from the window.

‘We will!’ Alfred replied, only just stopping himself from running after the carriage.

He did not. His shoulders slumped and he was overcome by the strangest urge to cry.

‘Alfred? What’s wrong, my love?’ Edward asked gently at once.

‘I’ve no idea. Only that I think I’m just quite happy,’ Alfred said, laughing it off and thinking himself ridiculous. ‘Life goes on and there’ll be bad days, and tight corners, and more risks, but today I am _happy_.’

Edward chuckled knowingly and kissed his love sweetly. ‘So am I,’ he said. ‘Very, very happy.’

Alfred kissed back hungrily, so much so that the ladies teased them with low whistles and giggles.

Edward pulled himself up to his most authoritative height and turned to them as they walked back into the castle:

‘So which one of you had the brilliant idea to marry my husband?’

‘It was Charlotte!’ Cecilia said naughtily.

Charlotte tutted at once: ‘No, it was you! Don’t believe her, she’s trying to prank you.’

Edward sighed. ‘Tell me everything from the beginning…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a sequel.
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25961791


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